Harry Potter and the Marauder's Vendetta
by BrownRecluse2517
Summary: When classrooms become battlefields, students become soldiers, friends become lovers, rivals become allies, and a leader must take his stand against evil. Chapter 23 up. Please review!
1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter and the Marauder's Vendetta

Summary: OK, for those of you reading Harry Potter and the Days of Darkness was going nowhere, thanks in large part to me starting the thing after book 4, but not finishing it, even after book 6. So, let's begin again. This picks up at the end of Half-Blood Prince, and I will take it in my own, hopefully completed direction. So here we GO!

Chapter 1: Reflections in an Emerald Eye

In the smallest bedroom in the house at #4 Privet Drive, a mirror hung from a door in the cabinet. The mirror stretched from floor to ceiling, and on most days, was left neglected and unused. On normal days, Harry Potter didn't care what he looked like, or what anyone else thought of him. He didn't care that his jeans were torn, and baggy enough to smuggle a pack of beagles. He didn't care if his short-sleeved shirts had to have their sleeves rolled up three times just to pass his wrists. And he certainly didn't care if his hair, which had always been a mess of untidy strands, had come in the past few weeks to closely resemble a briar patch. The reason Harry Potter had come to treat his own appearance with apathy bordering on disdain was simply that no one else cared what he looked like anymore. Harry's aunt, uncle, and voluminous cousin Dudley (His only living relatives) had been avoiding Harry all summer, and since the only other living creature in the house was Harry's pet owl Hedwig, he had come to find any sort of preening as being an unusable accessory. For, in Harry's mind, the only thing that mattered anymore was training.

Since the death of Harry's mentor, Albus Dumbledore, at the end of last term, a manic zeal had overtaken Harry's usually placid summer demeanor. Rufus Scrimgeour, the recently appointed Minister of Magic, had allowed Harry special privileges to practice magic over the summer. As an ex-Auror, he felt this was appropriate, since Harry had recently found himself in battle with a dozen Death Eaters and had a mortal enemy in Lord Voldemort. So, as soon as Harry stepped onto the platform at 9 ¾, he began a new training regimen. Every morning at 6 AM, Harry awoke and sprinted down to the small park about a mile away from his Uncle's house. He considered this good exercise, and also gave him an excuse to get out of the house as early as possible. The park, aside from its playground, also had a chin-up bar. And so, Harry would go to work on building up his arms as well. This training regimen continued after he got back to his room (avoiding contact as much as possible, and subsiding through small doses of bread, water, and whatever fruit he could find). Up in his room, Harry had accumulated a small library of spell books (thanks in large part due to generous contributions from his friend Hermione Granger) including _The Advanced Trainer for Defensive Magic _and _Hexes for the Vexed._ Soon, he had mastered not only defensive spells such as the armor spell and advanced shield charm, but also offensive hexes, which had, among his favorites, the Itching Hex. Thus, day in and day out, Harry honed both his body and mind to their sharpest point. For he knew, without Dumbledore, the world outside his protected window had become a lot more dangerous.

Harry sighed as he looked over his most recent article in the wizarding newspaper, _The Daily Prophet._ The headline was emblazoned "FINNEGANS DEAD: DARK MARK DISCOVERED OVER HOUSE IN IRELAND." Harry Shuddered. Seamus's entire family had been wiped out, he had read, except for Seamus himself, who was visiting Dean Thomas's family. He had only met Mrs. Finnegan once, but she had been friendly and buoyant. The paper also wrote the Seamus's father, a Muggle, had died shielding their youngest son, Sean, from the Death Eaters. _The love of his father didn't protect him, _thought Harry bitterly. _Why did it only seem to work for me?_ The paper shook in his hands, and to distract himself, Harry flipped to the last page, which detailed the couples getting married. Up at the top, with a beaming photo next to it, was a congratulation for the wedding of Mr. William Weasley and Ms. Fleur Delacour, to take place on the 31st of July, some 2 weeks from now. Harry smiled. The Bill and Fleur in the picture smiled and waved happily, and Bill had his arms protectively around Fleur. It was obviously a new picture, because Bill's once handsome face had been left torn to shreds after the Death Eater's attack on Hogwarts at the end of June. The memory was enough to make Harry's insides burn. The Death Eaters, evil werewolf Fenrir Greyback maiming one of Harry's friends, his _family_. And Snape. The rage that burned within him reached its highest temperatures when thinking about Severus Snape, the so-called Half-Blood Prince. He had murdered the greatest wizard of this or any age while he was pleading for his life, after he had sacrificed his strength for the future of mankind. No, Harry hated Snape before, but what he felt now was more than that. It was a frenzy, nearly an obsession. It was a vow, to make sure that Severus Snape paid for what he had done.

Harry looked up into the long mirror, and noticed that he had been crying. He hurriedly wiped the tears from his eyes and began to run a comb through his hair, attempting to untangle his mess of hair. He wanted to look his best for today, because today was the day that the Weasley family was coming to pick him up. He had gotten notification yesterday. He grinned, looking at the letter:

_Dear Harry,_

_Mum told us today. There's no reason to wait any longer, and we're going to be coming to get you tomorrow, whether the Muggles like it or not. You'll be staying in my room, but I hope you don't mind being cramped. The wedding has flushed nearly every last living relation out of the woodwork, and they'll all be coming by in the next few weeks. _

_Speaking of relations (_Harry frowned at what Ron thought was an amusing segue) _it would very much please me if you and Ginny had a private word once you got here. I'm not sure your "Lonely Hero" speech absolutely convinced her last month. You know I think you two made a great couple, and I wouldn't want to see you lose something great just because you have issues with safety, mate. That, and she's driving me mad. So, there it is. We'll be by to pick you up tomorrow at 5 PM. Have your trunk packed, and don't forget your dress robes!_

_Cheers,_

_Ron._

5 PM. By Harry's bedside clock, he had an hour to finish getting ready. Most of his belongings had already been packed away, except for his invisibility cloak (an heirloom from his father) and his trusted Firebolt (a gift from Sirius Black, Harry's late godfather). He had kept these two out because the letter didn't specify what sort of transportation they would be taking to get to the The Burrow, and Harry wanted to be prepared for anything. _Maybe we'll get to take a flying car again…_ Harry thought lazily, remembering the time before his second year when the Weasley twins, along with Ron, had rescued him from the Dursley's…Harry jumped. _The Dursleys!_ He'd forgotten to tell his Aunt and Uncle that he would be leaving. He wondered what sort of response he would get. He realized, with a bit of a shock, that this would be the last time he ever had to be in this house, if that was how he wanted it. The thought filled him with nothing but joy. He threw open the door, and bounded down the stairs.

Uncle Vernon was sitting, watching the new plasma television in his front room when Harry entered. His piggy eyes flashed at the sight of his nephew, but remained calm. Harry crossed in front of the telly, making his Uncle shift uncomfortably in his chair.

"You make a better door than a window, Boy," Grunted Uncle Vernon.

"And you'd make a better boulder than a teacup," snapped Harry, "But that's not why I'm here. I'm leaving tonight. In about an hour. I don't expect…" he said, savoring the ability to finally say it, "to be coming back. Ever."

The thought seemed to strain Uncle Vernon's mind. _Probably will have run out of leisure activities if he doesn't have me to kick around like a football anymore,_ thought Harry vehemently. "Very…very well. I must say I'm glad to be rid of a burden like you. Expensive, and with your filthy, unnatural behavior. If you'd had some money, maybe then you might actually be worth…"

Harry's Uncle was interrupted by a blast from what sounded like a foghorn. His Aunt Petunia and Dudley came rushing in from the kitchen, where she had been preparing Dudley his favorite drink, chocolate sauce in soda pop. Uncle Vernon, looking fit to explode, rushed over to the window to see what had made such a racket.

His Jaw simply dropped.

Outside on the curb were two long, sleek stretch limousines. Harry could tell that insides had been magically modified; meaning they probably belonged to the Ministry of Magic. However, on the hood of each car stood two little flags, each emblazoned with the letters HP, intersected by a lightening bolt. As the car rolled to a stop, Harry saw the drivers. It was the twins, Fred and George Weasley. They were both wearing identical tailored suits, and black bowler hats, making them look like a cross between chauffeurs and bodyguards. They each got out of the car, and with brisk precision strode to the door of #4, Privet Drive. Without looking, Harry was positive that every neighbor on the street was now focused on his house.

A sharp rap on the door, and Harry opened it, prepared to shake hands. But the Weasleys walked directly past him, drew their wands, on pointed them at the Dursleys. "I'm sorry Mr. Potter, but, do you know these people?" said Fred, with a face so stony, Harry was almost fooled into believing he was serious.

"Fred, these are the Dursleys, my Aunt, Uncle and Cousin."

"Very good sir," said George, echoing his brother's hardened manner. "We apologize for the inconvenience, but when you said you wanted us to bring your car to pick you up, you neglected to mention which one you wanted. I'm sure it's our fault, sir, but to make sure, we brought both." Uncle Vernon's piggy little eyes nearly popped out of his sockets. _BOTH?_

George spoke into the cufflink on his sleeve, "We're all clear in here. Bring in the butlers." The next thing Harry knew, Ron and his older brother Charlie were striding up the stairs, both wearing black tuxedos and looking, for all the world, like a pair of butlers. "Second floor, sir? Very good, sir." Said Ron, making his best attempt at a smarmy, Malfoy-esque accent. Harry had to bite down on his tongue to keep from laughing.

"We didn't know how much you wanted to bring to school this year sir," said George, "So we brought both of your butlers as well. I know you don't like extravagance, but when one is as rich as you, sir, we thought you could afford to, just this once."

"Now wait just one minute, boy!" roared Uncle Vernon. "Are you saying you have a fortune, that you never told us about?" He was trembling with suppressed anger, but Harry saw the greed flashing behind his eyes.

"You never told them, Mr. Potter?" said Fred, looking aghast. "But…but you've always been so GENEROUS with your money in the past. Giving away THOUSANDS of Galleons! Why, sir, you told me that a person would have to be a true GIT not to get a little piece of the pie." He looked at Uncle Vernon with disdain. "For shame, you dastardly cur. What kind of man are you, not to earn the respect, even the _pity_ of a great man like Harry Potter?"

"I'm…I'm a…what kind of a…How much IS a Galleon?" stammered Uncle Vernon, seemingly at a loss for words.

"More than you'll ever see." Snarled Geroge. "Perhaps if you had treated him a little better, _sir._" Uncle Vernon's face went scarlet.

At that moment, Ron and Charlie came back down the stairs, holding Harry's broom, owl cage, and trunk.

"Ah, traveling light this year. Very good, sir," said Ron, running out the door with the traces of a smirk on his face.

"Well, that appears to be in order. Ready to go, Mr. Potter?" said Fred, tipping his hat.

"Uh…yeah! I mean, very well then, Jeeves." Harry said, smiling.

"But before you go, sir, we know how long trips make you lonely. So we took it upon ourselves to make sure you had some traveling companions. Ladies?"

The door to the back limo opened, and Harry blinked to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Fleur, Ginny Weasley, and Harry's best friend Hermione Granger all stepped out, wearing dresses that, to Harry, seemed to exit the car about a foot after them. Each of them were wearing makeup, and had on high heels that made them seem a foot taller.

"Harry! HARRY! 'ARRY!" He suddenly found himself being kissed on all sides, and blushing furiously, hooked his arm around Hermione and Ginny's arms. Fleur pouted, putting on her cutest voice. "Aww, 'Arry, do you not like me anymore?" She swished her hair, and Harry could tell, in a dazed sort of way, that she was putting on her Veela charms, and looking back at the Dursleys, he could see for whom. Dudley was goggling at the three girls, and Harry could see his tongue was about to fall out of his mouth and roll out like a slimy red carpet. Harry couldn't help himself.

"Fleur, of course I still like you sweetie. Tell you what, we'll switch off arms in the car." Hermione and Ginny giggled at this. Harry blushed scarlet.

"Well sir, now, if there is nothing else, I do believe it is time to go. Can't be late for your early supper with the Minister, can you?" Fred grinned, slightly.

"Lead on, Jeeves." Said Harry, barely able to sustain his laughter.

As he walked out the door, Harry knew in his mind, that one way or another, this would be his last time at the Dursley house. He turned, and saw the entire family goggling at him, as if they had never seen Harry truly before.

"All of this could have been yours." Said Harry, shrugging. "See you."

And with that, he sauntered away into the waiting car.

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"Had a few extra Galleons in the practical jokes chest, eh Jeeves, "Yelled Harry, after the raucous laughter had finally died down.

"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes has been very, very goof to us," said Fred smiling as he pulled the two cars out of Little Whinging. They had, according to Ginny, been rented and "Improved."

"Besides, those Muggles deserved to see what they were going to miss out on, thanks to their behavior." Said George, speaking through the intercom. Ron and Charlie were still howling with laughter in the back of the other car.

"Well, where to?" said Fred, lazily pulling out onto the main road.

"The Burrow!" shouted Harry, excitedly.

"But of course, Mr. Potter sir!" yelled Fred, grinning as he switched on the Wizarding Wireless Network. "Only shut your eyes for a few minutes. These girls need to change, or else Mum will kill us!"

Harry grinned and chivalrously covered his eyes. But he couldn't stop grinning. That was the best exit he had ever made from his horrible relations, and it came just at the right time. All his other problems could wait. For now, he was happy to be just where he was, and to be going where he was going.

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Hope you all liked Ch1. Since I now have IDEAS of where I want to go, updates should come fast. I hope reviews come that fast too!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Believe it or not, I'm not J.K. Rowling

Harry Potter and the Marauder's Vendetta

Chapter 2: The Wedding

As the car winded its way around large snarls of traffic, Harry settled comfortably in the back of it, munching on his fourth bar of Honeyduke's chocolate (while never starved at the Dursley's house, he never was allowed the perks that Dudley was given). As the car twisted past an accident that was blocking half the road, Harry realized that they weren't heading towards the Weasley's house.

"Uh, where are we headed?" said Harry.

"Our shop," said Fred. "We thought we might take a breather there before jumping into the firestorm."

Harry's eyes traveled to Hermione and Ginny, who was now back in regular Muggle clothes.

"Its… a little hectic at our house right now." Said Ginny, giving the smallest half-glance toward Fleur. "The wedding's got Mum very excited. And by excited, I mean absolutely nutters. She's been running around for the past MONTH screaming about how we're not going to make it. No use telling her we have two weeks to go. She just snaps if you do that and spends the next two hours muttering about how 'something always happens.'"

Harry grimaced. "Long summer, eh?"

Ginny and Fleur nodded. "She is working herself much too hard," said Fleur (and Harry noticed that her English was indeed much better since she came to England.) "We are, of course, helping as much as we can, but she must not be so…how do you say it? Uptight?"

Harry laughed. "That's about right. But honestly, I'm surprised you're not the same."

Fleur smiled. "Maybe I am, Harry. Maybe I'm just much better about hiding it than she is. But really, I have nothing to worry about. I have my Bill, I have a whole new family around me, and there are much more important things to worry about than whether the flowers used to mark the aisles match my bridesmaid's hair." The car laughed at this, but Harry felt she had hit the mark. Life had to go on, and weddings were a wonderful part of that, but trifles like the arrangements didn't seem as important as they did before Dumbledore's death. Of course, he didn't think he would be telling Mrs. Weasley that anytime soon.

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The cars reached the leaky cauldron much sooner than Harry expected, and Harry noticed that they weren't drawing nearly as much attention as he thought.

"Nice added feature, "whispered George, after parking his car, "To anyone who we don't _want _to see it, these look like two battered old Ford Anglias. Someone would sooner pilfer from a goblin than try to take those clunkers." Harry smiled.

"Why did _his_ car get chocolate, but not ours, I'm _starving_," moaned Ron, stepping up to the Leaky Cauldron's front door. "Harry, fancy a bite here?"

Harry, who hadn't had anything but the chocolate to eat, had no objections. The bar was dark, but Tom the innkeeper was so happy to have paying visitors, he nearly set the room ablaze while excitedly starting the fire, and bowed so deeply when Charlie ordered a round of Butterbeers that he bumped his bald pate on the stone floors.

"What about Bill?" Asked Harry. "He on wedding duty today?"

"No, we just thought the Muggles might suspect something if we brought him," said Ron, suddenly looking downcast.

"How is he?"

"Oh, he's much better," said Hermione, still looking downcast. "There aren't any substantial aftereffects of the bite, none but the scars and the pointed ears and teeth, but most of those scars have healed very well."

"Can't he do something about the ears?" asked Harry. "Or the teeth? I'm sure that with magic…"

"He can't," said Fleur, a fire in her eyes. "Werewolf bites will leave their marks, and there is nothing you can do. But I wouldn't want him to change, even if he could! He fought bravely that night! And I won't have anyone telling him he should be ashamed himself! He is…the most brave…the most _handsome…" _Fleur's head bobbed down in a silent sob. Harry sat speechless, feeling like just been clubbed in the stomach. He hadn't meant any harm by asking, but apparently, he had touched a nerve that was still rather painful for Fleur.

"I didn't mean it like that, Fleur. I'm sorry."

Fleur merely shook her head once. "I know, Harry. I know. But I love him, just as he is." She bent back down, crying. Ron and Hermione looked uncomfortably at Harry, obviously searching for something to break the otherwise empty silence.

"…Any new news from the Order?" asked Harry. Hermione looked at with a "now's not the time" look, but Fred immediately took up the change in conversation.

"We've got loads, Harry. George and I are now in, officially, and that means we have all the up to date information."

"Yeah, get the newsletter and everything," smirked George.

"But we can't tell you much here," said Fred, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "Best wait til all the rest of the Order is around to fill you in on the heavy stuff. But I'll tell you this: there's a lot more going on than the _Prophet _can tell you. As far as we can tell, the Tower Battle-that's what they're calling the fight up the astronomy tower-well, it knocked a sizable hole in the Death Eater's muscle. And, more importantly, they're losing recruits."

"Why did the Tower Battle help with that?" asked Harry.

"Isn't it obvious, Harry?" said Hermione. Ron rolled his eyes. "People have been in the dark about most of the battles we've won so far. The Department of Mysteries Battle was a mystery to almost everyone who wasn't there. They knew you were there when Voldemort- Oh, shut UP, Ron! - When Voldemort returned. But they don't know why. This battle, even though all these terrible things happened, showed that there were people willing to stand up to the Death Eaters, to give their lives if necessary. And of course, there's the fact that you were with Dumbledore, you know, at the end." Hermione turned slightly pink. "The fact that they didn't kill you, again, has been a boost for propaganda."

"I'm surprised the fact that I didn't stop Snape from murdering Dumbledore-"

"There was nothing you could do, mate." Said Ron emphatically. "No one blames you, and frankly, you've become a bit of a…well, I don't know how someone could become more famous, but Harry, you're an icon."

"People have been using you as the banner for our cause," agreed Ginny, giving Harry an approving glance. "You stood up for what you thought was right, even when the whole Ministry was against you. You're all people could want in their heroes. You're a rebel, you've beaten You-Know-Who more than anyone else, and, need I remind you, you've become quite good-looking in the last few years." Harry felt his face go red as Ginny smiled mischievously at him.

"But that's about all we tell you for now," said Fred, looking between his sister and Harry with a grin. "We'd better be getting you lot home to the Burrow. After all, we shouldn't hold off Mum too much longer, or we'll be cleaning her off the ceiling."

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"…No, Hermione will be one of the Bridesmaids, dear. Both Bill and Fleur will have no problem with it, I'm sure. And…Arthur, really, change out of that ridiculous shirt. We're having guests over in a few weeks, and that shirt is already ruining my plans. Oh Heavens, we're _not_ going to make it! Why I didn't just opt for a nice little church, I'll never know. And let's see, where will we put Harry…Harry!"

Harry and the rest of the Weasley children (Minus Fred and George) had entered the Burrow two minutes ago. Harry had expected to find Mrs. Weasley hard at work, but had not expected to transformation that had occurred since the last time he was here. The garden, normally full of gnomes and old boots, had been trimmed and decorated to perfection, with a stage the size of an orchestra hall placed on one far end, and over 200 chairs set in rows in front of it. Apparently, no expense was too great at a Weasley wedding.

The group had entered the house (Ron and Charlie in much trepidation, as they were the most likely to be called to help with large objects) to find Mrs. Weasley walking up and down in front of their kitchen, poking and prodding at various bowls, causing steaming hot soup to be prepared. At the table sat Mr. Weasley, with a look of resignation on his face.

"Marvelous to see you, Harry dear, and of course, you're just in the nick of time. Every hand at the ready. We only have two weeks left, and I dare say we won't make it unless we all chip in a bit." She had said this all very fast, and Harry saw a manic glint in her eyes. He decided to divert his attention.

"Hello, Mr. Weasley. How are you?"

"Oh, he's fine dear, he's fine. But honestly, he's been no use at all these past weeks, what with one thing and another. I requested for Arthur to get time of from work in order to help, but ohhhh nooo, the Ministry seems to think that You-Know-Who is suddenly more important than preparing for my first son's wedding. Really you'd think they'd…"

Harry caught Mr. Weasley's eye, and saw that "work" had been the only rest he'd had for the past few weeks.

"Dad's not gotten a word in since May," Smiled Ron. "Come on, I'll show you to your room."

"I'm not in your room?" asked Harry.

"There is no "My Room" right now", said Ron bitterly. "All the boys are sleeping in Fred and George's old room right now. We have about 30 family member coming in before the wedding, and they all needed a place to stay, so we had to clear out."

They left Mrs. Weasley continuing her monologue in the kitchen, and continued up to the second floor, which was as clean as he had ever seen it. As Harry made it up to the second floor landing, he saw a face peeking out of the bathroom on the right. It was Bill.

"Hey, Harry!" he said in an excited whisper. "Good to see you! I popped up her about half an hour ago, said I needed to use the bathroom. I swear, I haven't had a night's rest in weeks. I'm bound to fall asleep up on the altar, the way Mum's pushing us. So, enjoy the entourage you received?"

"Loved it." Said Harry, smiling as Fleur bounded into Bill's arms. He saw that Bill still had his hair pulled back, showing off his pointed, wolf-like ears, and that he still had a scar, starting at his left brow, and cutting down over one eye. "You doing OK, Bill?"

"Can't complain." Said Bill, looking happy but slightly wary. "Things could've been loads worse. Doesn't even hurt any more. In fact, I was thinking of adding a few more piercings up the ear, now that I've got more room. That should give Mum a bit more ammunition for the upcoming week." He grinned, showing two rows of canines.

"BILL! BIIILL! GET DOWN HERE, I NEED YOUR HELP!" Bill's grin turned into a groan, and he began to goose-step his way down stairs.

"Oh, by the by, there's a Order meeting tonight. You, Hermione, and Ickle Ronnikens are invited. Interested?"

"Wouldn't miss it." Said Harry.

Ron showed him into the twin's room, which had bunk beds from wall to wall. Harry felt as if he had stepped into an old barracks. "Should be a fun two weeks," he said. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny grinned and nodded.

"Maybe, if you're thinking about heading to Godric's Hollow, some time in the next few days wouldn't be a bad idea," said Hermione.

"Yeah, except Mum won't give us the time off. You heard her. She's fanatical. Her first son is getting married, and suddenly its like the Minister of Magic is coming. But you should plan for that, mate. And what about the rest of the summer?"

"Dunno," said Harry, and the truth was, he didn't know. He hadn't thought much about how he was going to begin his search for the Horcruxes. There was so much ground to cover, and not much time to do it in if he had any idea of finishing his 7th year at Hogwarts. "I reckon we should mention the Horcruxes at the meeting tonight, see if anyone has any idea of where some of the other one's might be."

"Actually, I have an idea of where one might be," said Hermione. "RAB."

"You've figured it out?" said Harry, looking shocked.

"It's been under our noses the whole time!" Hermione was looking excited and anxious. "We've been looking through all the wizards allied with Dumbledore, but we forgot to look at his enemies!" Harry looked perplexed. Hermione went on.

"Double agents, Harry. Maybe even double agents that Dumbledore didn't even know about. We were so busy looking at people like the Bones's, we forgot that Death Eaters were in the perfect position to get their hands on a Horcrux if they wanted to."

"Spit it out, Hermione!" said Harry. If she knew who it was, really!

"Black."

Harry sat stunned.

"Regulus Auron Black."

"You can't be serious…" began Harry. But Hermione stopped him.

"Look at it logically, Harry. A Death Eater who got cold feet. All this time, Sirius thought his brother had been killed because he fled their ranks. But what if he betrayed them instead? Saw what was going on, and decided it was too much? Voldemort probably would've taken him out personally. He probably hasn't told any of the other Death Eaters about the Horcruxes, so he probably killed Regulus personally. It might have been really easy if he had already drunk the poison like Dumbledore did."

"We found a locket while cleaning out Grimmuald Place!" said Harry.

"Yes, and it could have easily been the real locket. We couldn't open it, remember? I bet Regulus got the locket, but he couldn't open it either. But he must have been able to keep it somehow, to hide it so Voldemort couldn't get it."

"How, though?" said Ginny. "When You-Know-Who wants something, he'll get it from you."

"Unless," interjected Harry. He was thinking hard. "Unless you had someone who you could trust with your secrets. Someone who would follow your commands, but not Voldemort's." His eyes lit up. "A servant. And absolutely devoted servant." He met Hermione's eyes, and she understood at once. "OF COURSE!" She breathed. "Harry, do you still control him?"

_If he's still alive_ thought Harry. "Kreacher!" he yelled, hoping, for the first time that the disgruntled old House elf would show up.

There was a sudden pop, and Kreacher appeared, followed closely by Harry's friend, the House Elf Dobby. "Kreacher will come when Harry Potter calls! Kreacher will obey his master!"

Kreacher looked ready to strangle Harry and Dobby, but Harry didn't care. "Kreacher, do you still have Slytherin's Locket?"

Kreacher looked shocked. "How does the beastly master know that Kreacher was entrusted the locket? Tried to throw it out, he did, but Young Master Black had told me. 'Don't let anyone get to it. Let it go down through the family', says he. Kreacher mustn't let his master down, especially when filthy mudbloods and traitors are trying to find it."

"Kreacher, we need it. I am the next in line. Do you still have the Locket?"

Kreacher looked furious, but he couldn't ignore a direct question. "Kreacher has it…" he said, simpering to Harry. "And keep your dirty hands off of it. Next in line, indeed…"

"Kreacher, give me Slytherin's Locket. Now."

Again, Kreacher seemed to be trying to find a loophole out of doing what Harry told him, but with a reluctant bow, and pop, left the room.

"Dobby, make sure he doesn't pull any tricks with it." Said Harry.

Dobby bowed, and disapparated after Kreacher.

'Harry, if Regulus couldn't defeat the magic, how will you?" asked Ginny, looking worried.

"We'll have to find a way, along with a way to get to all the rest of them. Why, worried about me?" He gave her what he thought was a rakish grin, but when he saw the deep concern in both Ginny and Hermione's eyes, he couldn't do it. "I'll be careful. We'll find a way to get rid of it."

"Just don't get rid of _you_ along with it." Said Ginny. There was another pop, and the two House Elves reappeared. Dobby had Kreacher in a furious headlock. "YOU SHALL NOT HURT HARRY POTTER!" he was shouting, and Harry could see a vial in Kreacher's other hand.

"Master said Kreacher must get, Master didn't say there couldn't be any thing ON it." Said Kreacher with a nasty grin.

"GIVE ME THE LOCKET, AS IT IS!" yelled Harry, and Kreacher stopped fighting. Looking venomous, he handed over the Locket. Harry could tell at a glance it was the real one this time. He saw Kreacher about to leave out of the corner of his eye. "You are not allowed to tell anyone anything about this transaction, Kreacher. Now get back to Hogwarts!" Kreacher swore, and throwing Harry the ugliest look he could muster, popped out of the room. Dobby smiled, waved, and popped back to Hogwarts too.

Silence resounded through the Weasley's dining room that night, as Harry filled in the members of the Order of the Phoenix as to what had transpired. Lupin, Tonks, all the Weasleys (Except for Percy), Mad-Eye Moody, and Kingsley Shacklebolt were all in attendance, along with Harry and Hermione. "So, there you have it. Another piece of Voldemort's soul is sitting right here at this table."

"Well, that's quite a tale, lad," growled Moody, as he examined the Locket, his magical eye quivering. "Hmmmmm…yes, lots of magic protecting it. You can't just stab it, by the looks of it. There's got to be a way, though, a way to destroy it."

"We'll find a way," said Remus Lupin, looking tired and drawn. "What's important is that we have it. Now Harry, there are a few other things we need to tell you. Obviously, the search for the Horcruxes is of the most vital importance, so we all have been searching for the pieces, and so far, we've come up with a few leads:

Piece One: Riddle's Diary. Destroyed.

Piece Two: The Black Ring. Destroyed by Dumbledore.

Piece Three: The Slytherin Locket. Well, we've at least got it now.

Piece's Four, Five, and Six should all be some relic of the founders. Most likely, the Cup from Hufflepuff, and something from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor.

Then there is piece Seven, possibly inside that snake of his.

"Now, Pieces One and Two, we don't have to worry about. Piece Three, at least we have, and we can worry about it soon enough. It's these Horcruxes of the Founders we have to worry about. Each is difficult to find, and we don't know where to look for them. But, we have a few educated guesses. One involves you personally, Harry. We think," said Lupin, taking a breath, "that one of the Horcruxes, the last, in fact, was hidden in your old house."

Harry couldn't believe it. "What…what makes you think that?"

Lupin rubbed his tired eyes, and ran one hand distractedly through his hair. "The prophecy wasn't the only reason you went into hiding, Harry. At least, we think it wasn't the only reason. We thought that your parents were being targeted because the prophecy told Voldemort that you or Neville would be the one to bring about his possible defeat. But Neville never had the same protection, the same barriers. We think that James and Lily were hiding something more, too."

"A Horcrux." Harry couldn't believe it. There was no proof.

"No one ever knew exactly what James and Lily were doing after they left Hogwarts, except maybe Sirius. Whenever I asked them, they just said they were working against the Dark Side, along with Dumbledore. I think they couldn't say what they were really doing because they were under a Fidelius Charm. They couldn't say what they were doing. But I think that they were searching for the Horcruxes Voldemort had created." Lupin paused, staring intently at Harry. "Think, Harry. They had been in Godric's Hollow for only a few months. They were in _Godric's_ Hollow, for heaven's sake. We think that they had, in their possession, Gryffindor's Horcrux. Something no one knew he left. And that's why Voldemort came to your house that night. Not only to kill you, but to create a Horcrux using that very relic! The destinies all intertwined! The Prophecy and the Horcruxes coming together!" Lupin's voice had gotten higher and higher, a glint of triumph in his eye, as though he had already found another Horcrux.

"That's the theory, at least," he finished lamely.

"So, you want me to go hunting through the shards of my parent's house, the house the died in, to find an ancient relic cursed with a deadly soul, that is if it is in fact _there_?" said Harry, disbelief etched in his voice.

"Yes."

"Well, no problem then. When do we get going?"

"You'll have to wait until after the wedding, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley, stepping in. "Too many wizards are around right now, you may draw suspicion. And besides, I need your help with the preparations, every day! I've gotten lists, and I daresay you won't have a spare moment to go gallivanting off after You-Know-Who!"

These days, no one dared disagree with Mrs. Weasley about her wedding plans, and so the meeting disbanded that night, planning to meet again after Bill's wedding, to finalize the plans for the Horcrux hunt.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny all helped clean up the Weasley's dining room after the meeting that evening, while Bill busied himself with polishing his curse-breaking equipment. "I haven't used this stuff since I left Egypt, and I imagine you'll need more than me, what with all the breaking and entering you're likely to do to get the rest of the Horcruxes you need. Hey!" he said, picking up what looked like a long, notched ice pick. "An Unlocker! Forgot I had this! A petty thief's best friend, Harry. Unlocks any lock, as long as it doesn't have any spells on it. And it collapses for easy carrying! Why, I remember when I was in the tomb of King Bahamut III, and this little lovely actually opened up a door to what I thought was the secret treasure room."

"And was it the secret treasure room?" said Hermione, looking amused.

"Well, it turned out to be the secret treasure broom closet. Apparently, Bahamut buried a janitor with him for the afterlife."

The group laughed as Bill passed the Unlocker over to Harry. "Thanks, Bill."

"Don't mention it." Harry caught Bill looking wistfully at his old tool, before Harry slipped it away.

"Do you ever miss Egypt?" asked Hermione, also following Bill's gaze.

"Sure," said Bill, smiling with an air of nostalgia. "Just not enough to go back. I'm needed here, more than anywhere right now. This is where I'm meant to be. Is it a bit more boring in the Ministry? Sure. But I've got no regrets. Not a single one. Even when I think about all the maybes, the possibilities, I don't regret coming here one bit, Hermione. You know why?"

"Why?" said Ron, who seemed to think that working for the Ministry was the most boring thing you could do.

"Because every time I start to think about what life might have been like if I had stayed, I realize that I never would have gotten to know Fleur. I never would've fallen in love. Life's too short to sit there and ponder what should have been done. You make the choice your heart, or your gut, or your brain tells you to. And from there, you keep looking forward. Looking back doesn't do anything but make you look like an idiot when you start running into trees. Live for today, kids." He smiled. "And that's today's lesson from Uncle Bill. Now, you lot should be getting to bed. Mum will probably be starting her pre-wedding cleaning routine in a few hours."

Harry couldn't believe that he'd been up for four hours. Usually, he could fall asleep as easily as anything at the Weasley's house, but Bill's advice rang in his ears. _Well, not just Bill's advice_, Harry thought, and groaned. Sleeping in the same room with Ron was bad enough, but with Bill and Charlie also in there, it was like trying to sleep at a monster truck rally. At that moment, Charlie gave a particularly loud snore, a snore Harry actually felt rattle the windows, and he sat up, out of bed. This was ridiculous.

Out in the main hallway, Harry passed the girl's room on tiptoe, trying to avoid waking up anyone else. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, unsure of where to go next. He decided on going outside for a breath of fresh air, and began downstairs.

"Harry," he heard a voice whisper. It was Ginny Weasley, looking at him from a crack in her bedroom door. Without waiting for an answer, she bounded down the stairs and into his arms. Harry caught her, and held her tight against his chest.

"Oh, God, I've missed this," he said, looking down into the pile of red hair beneath his chin. Harry lifted her chin up, looking into Ginny's beautiful eyes, and…

"No." Harry suddenly dropped Ginny like a hot potato, leaving her looking hurt and angry. "Ginny, I'm really sorry, but I can't. What if someone finds out? What if Voldemort finds…"

"_What if?"_ Ginny whispered, looking venomous. "Outside, Harry." It was not a request, and Harry, keen not to make Ginny any angrier than she already was, obeyed.

"I am tired of the What-if's, Harry," Ginny began, as they made it out the door. "I'm sick and tired of never acting because of what other people might think or do. I want to be with you. I want to be be held by you. I want to kiss you so badly; it actually starts to hurt after a while. Physically hurt!" Her eyes began welling up with tears. "With someone like Voldemort out there in the world, there isn't time to play this game. I've got no time for subterfuge, or for dancing around each other. I want to be with you, Harry Potter. I…I love you. Do you feel the same way?"

Harry was stunned by her bluntness. But then he thought back over the past few months, how she had grown from a friend, to a girlfriend, and now to the possibility of something much more. But a sudden nudge from his heart told him, _not yet._ "I…I don't know yet, Ginny. I don't want to rush things between us. But I know one thing. I want to find out, more than anything. I want to be yours, too, Ginerva Weasley." He walked Ginny up the aisle to the large stage with an altar set in the middle, and sat her down on the lip of the stage. "Let's find out together. You're right, Ginny. We don't have time to deny what we feel right now. Let's be together." He grabbed her hand, and saw the tears streaming down her face.

"Oh, Harry. Do you mean it?"

"More than anything. Only one thing. Can we stay out here a bit longer? Its like a buzz saw factory in my room!" Ginny half-sobbed, half-laughed, and laid her head on Harry's shoulder.

"We'll stay out here, together, for as long as you want." Their lips, so lonely for each other, finally met.

The next two weeks passed by in a happy, but hardworking blur. The entire Burrow had been scrubbed, scoured and polished from top to bottom, quite a feat considering that although Mrs. Weasley kept things very clean, there were so many odd angles that dirt seemed to appear by magic. The floor shone with polish. The ghoul had been sent out of the attic for a long vacation. Harry and Hermione were severely singed when a packet of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes fireworks were found under a mattress in the twin's old room. And through the entire fortnight, Harry and Ginny stayed together, talking together, finding times at night to be alone. Almost every night (Thanks largely to the Weasley men's snoring habit), Harry took her out to the altar to talk for hours. He hadn't been this happy in a long time. And then, before he knew it, Weasley's began popping up on the front door. Most tall, some stocky, the Weasley relatives came from as far and wide as America, Spain, and even one deeply tanned Weasley from the Argentinean Highlands. Harry had never seen so many variations on the color red in his life. And on the night before the wedding, the Delacours arrived. Harry was especially surprised when Fleur's grandmother arrived. Harry knew she was a full-blooded Veela, but expected her to be an older lady now. But apparently, Veelas didn't age the same way as humans, and she still looked to be at the oldest, twenty-five. Gabrielle, Fleur's sister, bounded up to Harry, and kissed him on both of his cheeks, making him blush. That night, there was an immense feast, and even though there were well over 100 people there, Mrs. Weasley somehow found room for each of them at the table, and provided enough food for even the voracious Weasley appetites to be satiated.

"So, Harry, any plans for your birthday?" said Hermione from across the table after a large bowl of peppermint ice cream drifted lazily in from the kitchens. Harry sat, stunned. He forgot that his birthday was actually going to be the same day as Bill's wedding.

"I figure I'll have to turn 17 another day," grinned Harry.

"How about the day after," said Ron, slapping Harry on the back. "That's when we plan to have your surprise party, right Ginny?"

"YES, Ron, except its difficult for it to be a SURPRISE now, you prat!" said Ginny, laughing. Harry didn't care. This was going to be a great weekend.

The morning shone brightly as Harry watched Ginny, Hermione, and Gabrielle walked down the aisle, each holding a bouquet of flowers, and each walking so gracefully, they might have been floating. Next came all the Weasley boys, looking slightly out of place in their formal tuxedos, walking up the aisle with all the dignity they could muster. Harry looked out over the crowd. Most of the Order was there, along with Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic. By his side, looking guilty, was none other than Percy Weasley, who had barely acknowledged his family since the falling out of two years ago. Harry knew it wasn't his choice, but he was glad Percy was there. It made it feel right that the whole family was at the wedding.

Suddenly, the music played soft. Harry recognized the tune as Pachabel's Canon. It was one of his favorites from when he listened to music at church. The crowd hushed, and slowly, step-by-step, Bill and Fleur walked down the aisle. Bill had been elegantly tailored to fit into his suit, and Fleur, for lack of a better word, looked radiant. Harry heard Mrs. Weasley silently sobbing from the back of the porch. Mr. Weasley, Harry noticed, was trying to look as dignified as possible, but looked on the verge of losing control. And then, it was Harry's turn.

He walked down the aisle, his face set, wondering why the walk seemed so long now, when before it had barely taken a step. In his pocket, he felt the rings jingle against each other. At the altar, Harry stopped, bowed, and handed the rings over to the cleric, who took them with a smile. Harry smiled back, noticing the flaming red hair, combed like a steeple over his head. The priest turned to Bill and Fleur.

"Do you, William Lancelot Weasley, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do."

"And do you, Fleur Reine Delacour, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"Yes, of course I do!" said Fleur haughtily. The crowd laughed.

"Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss…"

But before he could finish, Harry saw the priest's eyes go wide. He stumbled, and out of his chest shot a blaze of green light. The light spread, up from the fallen priest, and floated into the sky forming a giant skull. Harry recoiled as a giant snake writhed from the skull, and danced in the sky. _No, no! Not today!_

But the shout came from the crowd, "DEATH EATERS!" and suddenly, the crowd was on its feet. The stampede was instantaneous, as 200 people began to run for any sort of exit. The problem was, there was nowhere to run, and 200 people running nowhere had the effect of a meat grinder.

From behind him, Harry felt a spell whiz past his head. He turned immediately and saw ten Death Eaters marching toward the congregation, the masks a gaudy macabre mockery of the holy day. Harry drew his wand (He was happy to see how many other people had decided to carry theirs) and looked for cover.

Many of the crowd were barreling toward the house, and Harry saw Fred and George leading the younger children away from the advancing Death Eaters Bill, Charlie, and Fleur had all drawn out their wands, and were firing hexes. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were all rushing towards Harry.

"Stupefy!" cried Harry, aiming a shot behind him as he ran toward his friends. "We need to get some cover. Get time for everyone to get out of here!" Hermione nodded, and yelled "Protego Maximus." Harry felt a large and varied assortment of spells bounce off the shield Hermione had created, and saw many other family members taking similar precautions.

Moody was one of the first to reach the advancing line of Death Eaters, followed closely by Tonks and Lupin. Harry knew they were outnumbered.

"We have to help them!" he cried, and launched himself at the nearest masked figure, knocking him off the ground. Hermione used the sudden opening to stun two unsuspecting Death Eaters before they could react. All over, people were screaming, adding to the scene a sound of perfect chaos. Whether or not they had been aiming to simply disrupt the wedding, or to kill someone at the wedding, they had succeeded in creating mass hysteria.

"We've got them on the run!" yelled Charlie, who was chasing away one Death Eater while socking another in the jaw as he came forward, wand raised. "Just keep them busy for a few more seconds, and the Aurors should be here!"

Harry wiped sweat from his brow. Most of the Death Eaters had fled already, making him wonder if they had really meant to do any more than frighten. The suddenly, "Crucio!" The pain shot through Harry like fiery daggers. He had been struck from behind, and was in too much pain to see; the pain was blinding. Then it suddenly lifted, and Harry saw the cleric, his wand raised, pointing at Ginny, who was fighting a Death eater twice her size on the other side of the altar. "It'll take more than YOU to stop a Weasley!" she yelled, hexing the wizard. She never saw the cleric.

"And now, Harry Potter, let me show you the true meaning of pain," the cleric drawled. Harry knew the voice immediately. It was Lucius Malfoy. "AVARDA KEDAVRA!"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" cried Harry, but it was too late. Slowly, as if the world was stopping in disbelief, Ginny Weasley was engulfed in green light, dropped her wand, and fell to the ground on the altar, never to rise again.

WHEW! Sorry about the wait, but I had a lot to say. And sorry to any H/G fans out there. Please read and review this, I'll get to work on the next chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: This is just me writing, not J.K. Rowling.

OK, I THINK IT'S AWESOME THAT SO MANY PEOPLE ARE READING, BUT PLEASE REVIEW TOO! THANKS! 

Author's Note: I think I might have ticked off a few readers in the last chapter. Well, I just wanted to say I didn't kill Ginny off for no reason. It was all a question of who would affect the most people if they died. But now, on with the story.

Chapter 3: The Funeral

"Have you seen Harry?"

The people had finally left. It had taken them three days to finally leave the Weasley house after the attack on the wedding. They stayed, to bring food, to bring comfort, and to bring pity, which got old very fast to the Weasley family. For them, this reached beyond simple pity or pain. This had taken the fabric of their lives, and ripped it apart.

Hermione had taken upon herself to guard the Weasleys. She couldn't protect them from sadness, from guilt, or from the pain so thick she could taste it. But Hermione, while close to the Weasleys, didn't feel she was the same family. She missed Ginny terribly (the two girls had gotten especially close in the last two years) but felt that she had duties to the Weasley family greater than mourning the passing of their daughter. She was the only one left. She would at least guard them against despair.

"Have you seen Harry?"

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked up from the dining room table. Mr. Weasley's eyes were red from crying. He had been doing nothing but crying for the past few days. The love for a daughter, for the only daughter, was something Hermione could understand. After all, what would her father be like if she had died in girl's bathroom her first year, or been petrified, or any number of things that had occurred since enrolling at Hogwarts. He looked up at Hermione, tears brimming at the corners of his eyes again. "I've not seen him since yesterday. Sorry Hermione. Molly? Have you seen him?"

Molly Weasley didn't move. She didn't even acknowledge her husband had spoken to her. All she did was stare, stare with those blank eyes. Hermione knew she wasn't seeing anything in the room. Mrs. Weasley had not cried, had not uttered one word since Fred and George brought Ginny's body into the dining room three days ago. She had barely stirred from her seat, barely eaten. She simply sat, lost in the dark passageways of her mind, remembering the bright light that was her daughter, who had been snuffed out before her time. Hermione shuddered. She remembered Harry telling her that Mrs. Weasley's boggart had taken the shape of her slaughtered before her eyes. Now, the boggart was real, and no laughter could get rid of the haunted look in Mrs. Weasley's eyes. Hermione left the dining room, pausing briefly to squeeze one of Mrs. Weasley's shoulders.

"Have you seen Harry?"

Bill was holding Fleur's head tightly against his chest, while the fire crackled brightly in the dusk of the living room.

"No, haven't seen him in ages. Course, I wasn't exactly looking for him either. Have you, dear?" Fleur shook her head, shaking tears from her eyes.

"It was all so pointless! Why Ginny? She has been the only girl in your family for generations, and then she is gone! I can't believe it." Fleur stomped her feet. "We shouldn't have done it, Bill! We shouldn't have gotten married! Then the Death Eaters would have had nothing to destroy!" She was nearing hysterics. Hermione came over and threw her arms around Fleur too.

"They would have found a way, Fleur," she said quietly. "No use blaming yourself. You have a right to happiness, just like everyone else. You're not the villain. Nor is Bill. It's them. The Death Eaters, and Voldemort. They are the ones who have brought this against us." Fleur sobbed even louder. Hermione closed her eyes so Fleur couldn't see them rolling. _You were never the best at cheering people up, _she thought to herself.

"Look at me, Fleur," said Bill catching her chin with his hand. He still held her close, but there was gentleness, a softness Hermione wasn't used to in his voice. "I have you now, Fleur. I can't bring her back. Ginny was a beautiful girl, and didn't deserve what happened, and you can be sure I'm going to set it right. But don't you dare think you are responsible for this. I love you, Fleur. When you told me you wanted to be a part of my life, forever, I knew then that we would always have each other. Ginny understood that. She was happy for us. I can't bring my sister back. But don't YOU go anywhere." Fleur sobbed into his chest. "Nowhere, Bill, nowhere!"

Hermione left the two newlyweds alone in the living room. It had only been a year ago that all of them were together, laughing over Ginny's disgust at having "Phlegm" become a part of their family. But the last few weeks, Gunny had actually warmed to Fleur, had accepted her, had even begun, Hermione thought, to love her like a sister. _So much can change in a year_.

"Have you seen Harry?"

Percy sat alone in his old room, detached from the rest of the family. He hadn't been able to say a word to anyone else since it happened.

"Oh, hello Hermione. Er, no. I'm afraid Harry's dropped off the map since last night. The last I saw him, he was over there, writing a note to Hagrid." He pointed over to the windowsill, his hand trembling so much that he knocked over an old pile of cauldron reports. "Oh, oh dear," he said, scrambling to pick them up. "We can't have mess. After all, these cauldron bottoms have been my _Family_ for the last two years!" He spat the word family as if it were a hot oyster, a look of bitter self-disgust on his face.

"Percy…" said Hermione, but Percy shrank away.

"Don't be nice to me, Hermione. Don't you dare. I don't deserve it! I spent the last two years working against my father, against, against ALL of you. Against Ginny." He buried his face in his hands. "She died a stranger to me. And it's all my fault." Percy began sobbing, repeating the words "MY fault, my fault…"

The door swung open, and in walked Fred, George, and Charlie. Hermione stiffened. Fred and George could have easily killed Percy last year without feeling too much regret the next morning. What were they here for?

"C'mon Perse," said Fred, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "We're going off to play a bit of Quidditch. I can't stand just sitting here anymore. She would've wanted us to have fun!"

"We need a fourth man," said George, helping Percy out of his chair. Hermione was stunned. This was more decency than she was used to from the twins. The tragedy had done nothing if not solidified the family as one cohesive whole again. The twins led Percy out past Hermione, who looked around at Charlie, who put his arm around her.

"No, we haven't seen Harry," he grinned. Hermione grinned back. "You know, all you're doing for us, you really should be looking for someone to help you feel better too. Anyway, hope you find Harry." He winked. Hermione frowned. _What did he mean by that? That's not the reason I'm looking for Harry at all!_ She walked out of the room, and began up to Ron's room. But then, he heard a soft sob coming from Ginny's room. Rushing quickly back down the stairs, she opened the door. "Harr…Oh."

Ron sat by the foot of the bed, going through a shoebox. Hermione could see it was full of old photos. There was Ginny, asleep in her mother's arms. Even as a baby, she had a pile of red hair. There was Ginny, riding her first broom. Ginny, running around the yard after a gnome. Ginny on her first day at Hogwarts, waving merrily from the Hogwarts Express. Ginny in her dress robes, obviously taken right before the Yule Ball, because Neville was standing behind her, looking sheepish.

"That's a good one of her in her dress robes," Hermione said. Ron sniffed, and nodded.

"Of course, she had to go with Neville. I'm surprised she made it out of there without a broken foot."

Hermione grinned, and took Ron's hand. She pulled him up onto the bed. Ron sighed.

"She had so much potential, Hermione. She was the best of all of us. Our one big hope." He grimaced. "What a bloody waste."

Hermione nodded. "Would you…would you have rather not known her? If you knew it would all end up like this?"

"Nah," said Ron. "She taught me how to use the Bat-Bogey hex. It was worth it." They both laughed. "I'm going to miss her," he said. "She was my little sister. No one knew how to get me angrier. No one could push my buttons better. But I'm going to miss her, so much…" His voice caught in his throat, and he picked up a picture of himself and Ginny, taken when he was about six. The two of them were smiling at the camera, and every for seconds, one of them would reach out and smack the other one in the arm. Ron snorted. "She could be a real brat, sometimes. And she hit hard too!" Hermione laughed with him.

"At least you still have these," said Hermione, pointing at the pictures. "They are something, at least." She put her hand on his. Suddenly, Ron looked up into her eyes.

"Yes…" he said. "At least…at least I still have…" he brought his lips closer to hers.

"Excuse me, but I heard someone was looking for me?" said Harry, watching the two of them from the hall. "Or should I come back later?"

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A short little chapter, but I hoped you all liked it. Next, where Harry was, and which ship will I decide to piss off next?


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling. Hopefully this hasn't become _Painfully_ obvious, just the regular obvious.

Harry Potter and the Marauder's Vendetta

Chapter 4: Godric's Hollow

…_Take care of Hedwig for me, Hagrid. I don't know when I'm going to be back. I'm not even sure if I'm will be. All I know is that I can't let what happened to Ginny happen to them. If all goes well, I'll see you in a few weeks._

_Harry_

With the letter finished, Harry attached it to Hedwig's outstretched leg.

"Hagrid's going to keep you for a while. He'll take good care of you, just don't let him talk you into getting anywhere near Grawp. Understand?"

Hedwig's enormous eyes looked reproachfully at Harry.

"Don't give me that look!" He said. "I won't lose another person OR animal to Voldemort, especially you Hedwig. Now go. And be careful. I'll be back to get you in a few weeks, I hope."

Hedwig gazed sadly up at her master, her friend, and with a mournful hoot, flew out the window. Harry sighed and got up from his perch on the windowsill, looking around the dark room. Percy had curled up on his bed, not moving, his eyes closed. He had come back to the family in their time of despair. In times like this, everyone supported everyone else. But Harry wouldn't allow himself to be supported, to be comforted. They had killed Ginny, murdered her in front of his eyes, for the sole purpose of causing him pain, and he could do nothing about it. And Harry vowed to himself that he would never allow that to happen again. _No one will ever be forced to bear my burden again._ His trunk lay open, and he pulled out his Invisibility Cloak. He already had his wand.

Harry had made up his mind in the past few days. He would find the Horcruxes. He would destroy Voldemort. And he would do it alone. Ron and Hermione were too valuable to lose. So, he would do what he was going to do all summer. He would go to Godric's Hollow, to visit his parents' graves. And from there, he would set out to complete his work.

He walked out the door, careful to avoid the sleeping Percy, and headed down the stairs, past the girl's room, and onto the first floor. The rest of the family had all fallen asleep downstairs, Bill and Charlie and the dinner table, Ron sprawled out on the floor at the foot of the sofa, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley on the sofa itself. Hermione and Fleur were spread out in two easy chairs. Hermione was curled up on the chair next them like a cat. Her position reminded Harry forcefully of the night Mr. Weasley had nearly been killed by Nagini. He crept over to her, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I'll come back for you," he whispered, and walked silently out the door.

In the chair, Hermione stirred. She thought she heard Harry's voice in her dream. "H…Harry?" She looked around blearily, but saw no one awake. She would have to find him tomorrow…

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The night sky was clear out in the country, so clear that the sky barely had any black in it with all the stars. And through its center shone the Milky Way, leading a path through the sky. The clarity was one of the reasons Harry had decided against flying to Godric's Hollow. Another was that he simply didn't know where it was. He could have used Flue, but there was a chance that the Weasleys would hear him and stop him, and also the distinct chance that no fireplace would be accessible at his old house anymore. So, after Harry had gotten to a reasonably clear stretch of land, he raised up wand arm, and called the only means of transport that seemed logical. With a loud BANG, the triple-decker, violently purple Knight Bus appeared directly in front of Harry.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus! Emergency transport for the stranded Witch or Wizard! My name is…"

"STAN!" yelled Harry. Stan Shunpike had retained much of his youthful gait, although his pimples had finally begun to diminish, albeit slightly. Stan Shunpike blinked in the light of the headlights.

"Neville? I…I mean, Harry! Blimey, its really you! In the flesh, big as anything! Well climb aboard! Come on, I can't say I expected to see you taking the regular transport again, after all you've become. Ern! Look, Ern! Harry's back!"

Harry shook the elderly driver's hand, and plopped down onto one of the beds.

"So, where are you off to tonight?" said Stan, beaming at Harry.

"Godric's Hollow," said Harry. "About 13 sickles, I suppose?"

"You're not paying a ruddy Knut!" said Stan looking outraged. "If it weren't for you, I reckon the Minister never would've let me out of Azkaban! Of course, I was a right idiot trying to impress people in the first place. But he said you'd been fighting for me! No, you're money's no good here. Godric's Hollow, Ern!"

Harry was about to protest this kindness, but Ern had suddenly thrown the Knight Bus into gear, and he had been tossed into the nearest bed by the jolt. Harry straightened up, and found himself eye to eye with Stan.

"Goin' home for a spell?" Stan said, shrewdly. "Or you just need a place to think? I heard what happened to the Weasley girl. Awful sorry bout it."

Harry simply nodded.

"Mind you, if'n you're needin a place to think, Godric's Hollow is the place. No one to disturb you, isn't that right, Ern?"

"Not a soul for at least ten miles, as the Snitch flies," replied Ern.

"It's…deserted? Why?"

"Well," said Stan, leaning in closer to Harry, "Ever since that night, the night you got that scar, it's been like a cloud hung over that place. No one gets near it, not these days at least. After your parent's died, didn't take but a year before the last of the folks left Godric's Hollow, and from all accounts, they were glad to go. 'Course, your parents graves are still there, from what I heard. They were near tourist attractions for a bit. But like I said, quieter than a tomb there now."

"Can you drop me off at their old house?"

Stan looked paler than usual. "Well, we can put you where it used to be. That also puts you smack on top of their graves. They were put where the remains of your house is. Mind you watch your step about there. Its like to be overgrown by now. Ah, here we are! Godric's Hollow."

Harry looked out the window, out into a vast plain. The plain stretched out, down a hill, to the foot of a small mountain, wreathed in clouds. Down the field to his right, he saw a cluster of mounds, all congregated around a small lake. Stan had been right; not even birds inhabited this place. Harry felt himself shiver. The silence was damaging his calm.

"Weren't there any other houses left?" Asked Harry.

"They're out there, just a bit harder to pick out, lest you know what you're looking for." Stan pointed to the tiny hillocks in the distance, and with a start, Harry realized that the grass had not only retaken the gardens and paths, but the houses as well.

"I doubt I'll even be able to find them here," said Harry. "My parents, I mean."

"Arr," croaked Ern, "Might be a bit easier than you'd expect." Ern was pointing out the front of the Knight Bus, toward a small hillock immediately in front of them. In the middle, standing like an outpost against the intrusion of nature, were two headstones.

"Someone's been here," said Stan, looking nervous. "Been cleaning up their site. Who would do that though? Weird, isn't it, Ern?" Ern "Arr"ed in response.

Harry stared out the window. This is where he was born. This was his house, his first an only true home. He felt the anger begin to boil in his blood. This was everything that could have been. And now, all that was left of it were two old stones. All that was left of the promise, all that was left of his parents.

"Thanks, Stan. Ern." Harry took a step toward the exit.

"Hang on!" Said Stan, blocking his way, "You sure you don't want us to come wif you? A little bit of extra backup never hurt."

"No. No one can come with me anymore. Not after…" Harry stopped himself. Not after Ginny. But it hurt to say her name. "Thanks, but no." He looked at Stan, who looked disbelieving, and at Ern, who looked worried. "Stay in the area, though, OK?

"First sign of trouble, just stick out your wand hand. We'll be back to pick you up."

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With a loud bang, Harry was left alone again. _Good,_ he thought. _This is how it should be. No other casualties. I can do it myself._

With a silent reverence, he approached his parent's gravestones. They were clean, remarkably clean. The tombstone on the left, his father's, had a lion's head on the front, facing forward, its mouth open and growling. Underneath it read:

JAMES POTTER

Fortitudo

On his Mother's tomb, Harry saw a beautiful etching of flowers. They were carved close to the ground, so that they seemed to be sprouting from the earth. Harry felt tears well up: They were lilies. On the stone read:

LILY POTTER

Susceptor

Harry had studied enough Latin in learning spells to know what the stones said. His father had "Bravery" inscribed on his tomb. His mother: Guardian.

Harry swallowed. She was remembered most for saving his life, on that night, so many years ago. A pang of guilt crept into his stomach. _She'd still be alive if not for me. So many have died, just so I could live._

"Why?" Harry was facing the stones of his parents. "What's so important about me, Mum? You could've been alive right now, if you had just stepped aside. Why didn't you let him take me? Why did you have to die?" Harry felt the tears come; he didn't care. He was tired of the death. It stalked after him, taking those most important from him, and he wanted to kill it, to hurt it as much as it hurt him. _Voldemort_. He was the reason so many had died. Voldemort was death. Harry felt his sorrow replaced by anger, as if someone had turned heat on a pot of water. _He is the reason for all this death. Then I'll make sure he pays for it!_

Harry bent down over his father. "I'll get him back for it Dad, I promise." And then he stopped. In between his parents, there was what Harry thought was an urn, with a heavy top. At first glance, Harry thought it was a part of the tomb, perhaps the remains of an eternal flame. But then he saw it couldn't have been. It was too wide to be a holder. And while the rest of the stone was hewn from rough granite, this was made of smooth marble. When he bent lower, he saw the outside of it had several runes etched into its heavy stone. Harry realized with a start what it was. _A pensieve!_

Instinctively, Harry pulled out his wand. The pensieve seemed so out of place here. Almost as if it had been placed here with the purpose of standing out. Almost as if it were here to be used. Harry tried to pull the lid off, but it was immovable. At least, Harry thought, by human hands. So instead, he pointed his wand at the stone top, and muttered "Reducto." The power of the curse turned the lid into a fine powder, and for the first time Harry had a clear view of what lay beneath.

Instead of the cold stone of the pensieve, the bowl was filled with what looked like a thick mist. Strands of thought floated among each other, occasionally forming an unknown face that stared up at Harry with pleading eyes, begging him to come closer, to hear what they had to say. And then, before Harry even had the time to react, the strands drew together to form a giant hand. Harry jumped back in surprise. Thoughts had never done this in Dumbledore's pensieve. He fired a Reducto curse at the approaching, but it merely passed through the thoughts as if they were fog, chipping a stone angel off the top of his mother's tomb. Backing up, Harry dodged and weaved away from the ghostly hand, but it only grew larger and longer to catch up with him. With one final strain from the pensieve, the hand grabbed ahold of Harry's shirt and yanked him into the void of the bowl of thoughts. Harry felt himself falling…falling…falling…

And then his feet touched solid ground. Harry blinked, and looked around, looking for a sign of the world he knew. But the world he saw was completely foreign; it was like nothing he had ever seen before. He was standing in a world surrounded by white. Snow fell, obstructing his view. He took a step, and felt hard, compact ice slip underneath his feet. _Why would anyone want to save this desolate place, and in my parent's grave too?_ Confused, Harry began to walk in circles, trying to see if anything emerged as he walked further and further away. And then, fro, far away, Harry heard the pitiful moan of a beast in pain. He began to walk toward it, and as he went, he saw he was not the only person out here in the cold. A man was walking out over the ice, towards the unseen creature, but he was dressed like no one Harry had ever seen before. He saw the man wore a large Captain's Hat, adorned with a large black feather, and a long brown coat covered most of his body. Although he wore large, heavy boots, they never seemed to slip over the uneven ice. The man's face was mostly obstructed by the hat, but Harry could see a long beard pointing like a crescent moon out from his face. The man was walking quickly, with long strides that told Harry that he knew where he was going. And soon, Harry saw it as well.

Slowly, through the dense snow, Harry saw a black haze emerge in front of him. As he got closer, he saw it was a ship. _Not just any ship,_ he thought, _A galleon!_ The tall masts soared above him, with full sails being blown about by the gale-force winds. As Harry neared, he saw that the animals he thought had made the noise were actually four giant trolls, even larger than the one he fought his first year. They were each strapped into an immense harness, and tied by thick ropes and chains to the bow of the galleon. As they moved in unison, they groaned against their heavy burden, and the ship groaned in response as it was slowly dragged through the frozen landscape.

The monotonous drone of the wind and the beasts was suddenly broken by the crack of a whip. Harry looked toward the direction of the sound, and saw a man perched on the bow of his ship, inexplicably wearing only a shirt and long pants. His face held a maniacal happiness to it, and as Harry watched, the man howled his joy to the surrounding world, cracking his whip to spur on the enslaved trolls.

"Move, you dung-scrapings, or I'll be fixing myself some troll stew tonight! You think this is cold? We'll sail on, whether I'm trapped in this God-forsaken ice or not! You hear me, we'll SAIL!"

The man walking with Harry chuckled at this, a mirthless laugh, and the young captain of the ice ship turned. His joy receded, and pulled his face into a mixture of loathing and insane glee.

"Well! An honored guest! You should've told me you were coming, and I would've broken out the Sunday best for you!" The Walking Man nodded coldly, and pulled out a wand from his belt. "The time has come, Captain. I've let you live for far too long."

"As long as there are those willing to fight, you'll never kill me, Wanderer!" snarled the Captain, dropping any false formality, and pulling out both his wand and a long, thin sword. With one smooth movement, the Captain had leapt the distance between them, and released half a dozen curses in the Walking Man's direction. All of them bounced off the man as though he were made of concrete. Enraged, he charged the Walking Man, plunging his sword deep into his chest. The Walking Man simply stepped aside, caught the sword by the hilt, and plunged it into the Captain's throat. Harry gasped as he saw the Captain's life slowly ebbing away from him. The Walking Man, however, was amused.

"You sailed all these years against me, sailed even after I froze the sea, and this is how it ends? I'm almost disappointed. Almost." The Walking Man extracted the sword and raised it above his head. "I will always triumph." The sword came plunging down.

"Always…"

Just as Harry's mind attempted to deal with what he had just seen, the scene shifted. Where there was once nothing but white, there was now a parade of colors, red and blue and all the ones in between. Harry shook his eyes for a moment to readjust them, and realized that he was in a circus tent. In front of him, a tall woman with long black hair stood in a ringmaster's outfit. She bent down, smiling to a young girl, who was holding a large lollipop.

"Now, if I hear you've been minding your mother and doing all your chores, next week, I'll show you how to lift things up without using your hands! Alright?"

"Yes, Madame."

"Good, now off to bed with you. Go, go, your mother is waiting." The lady ringmaster watched the young girl go with a wide smile. As the flap closed, she brushed a tear away.

"Still getting the spawn ready for their trip to that school?" Came a harsh voice from the back of the tent. Harry whirled to see a clown walking slowly toward the center ring, spinning his wand between his fingers. Harry shuddered. He didn't much like clowns to begin with, but this one had painted his face into a malicious leering smile, with dark painted eyebrows pointing down in 45 degree angles. "No thought for the fact that her entire family is Muggle?"

The Ringmistress smiled. "She is one of the most gifted girls I have discovered. She will be going to Hogwarts as soon as she receives her letter, and she will be ahead of the rest of her class. And I would appreciate it if you kept your opinions to yourself, Mephisto. You are here as my guest."

"I am," sneered the clown, Mephisto. "And I must thank you for you hospitality. However, I must say, it will be difficult for the owl to find young Monique's house, since it is presently on fire." The Ringmistress's eyes flashed in anger and horror. "Oh, and I'm afraid her mother didn't quite make it out, either."

"BASTARD!" cried the woman, but her wand hand was too slow. Mephisto snapped his wand to her throat, and stood there, his own grin amplified by the grotesque representation on his face.

"You were far too kind, Madame," grinned Mephisto. "You will not help any more of these filthy mudbloods. In fact, you won't be helping anyone ever again."

"You would murder me with magic? The Ministry will know it was you. You won't get away with it!" She had tears of rage in her eyes, and her breath was coming in ragged gasps.

"You know, my dear, you are correct. So, if you would please direct your attention to the center ring." He flicked his wand, and a long noose slid its way down from the ceiling. The woman contorted in fear. But Mephisto held his wand firm. "There is no hope, Madame. No escape. And so it is for any who would challenge the Dark Order."

The noose drew closer…

"The show must go on, Madame…"

_Why is it showing me this?_ Harry wished he could turn it off, but the pensieve soldiered on, flashing from death to death, always the good being defeated. A flash showed him a snowy battlefield, with a young drummer boy being set upon by a hook-nosed recoat Major. Another flash, and an African maiden was being chased by wolves, directed by an old man. Again, a flash, and a young Chinese woman with a wicked smile pinned her master to the floor with a staff. The staff shot a green light. Always death, over and over. And steadily increasing inside Harry's brain was the repeating thought: Evil shall always triumph. It rose to a cacophonous symphony of death and pain, until Harry felt as thought his mind would burst, and even worse, until Harry wished it would. _Anything to stop this hopelessness!_

And then, all was silent. A young man with untidy black hair sat reading in the living room, smiling as he heard a young lady humming softly in the other room. _No, _thought Harry . _Not this one. Please. _ But then, the door flew open and Harry felt a thrill of pain across his skull as he saw a familiar snakelike visage at the door.

"Lily, its him! Take Harry and go! Now! I'll hold him off!"

Harry could not look away as his father's life was sucked away. Nor could he stop the howl of misery that stemmed from his throat, indeed his very soul. He could only watch James Potter fall, and hear his own voice in his head repeating the familiar refrain: _Evil always triumphs!_ And then, he paused, confused. Voldemort had picked up his father's wand. Only, it wasn't his father's wand. It was an old wand, twisted and made of what Harry thought might have been white birch bark. Harry saw his father's wand still tucked inside his belt loop. _The wand shouldn't be there,_ thought Harry. He had never seen his parent's death before. Then, as he watched, Voldemort muttered a spell over the White Wand. It glowed green for a moment, and then shot a beam of light into Voldemort's chest. He flinched, and a small orb of light floated from him into the wand. Harry watched, transfixed, as the snakelike face shrunk even deeper, obscuring the last vestiges of Voldemort's humanity. Then, with a smile, he replaced James's wand with the white wand, and moved into the bedroom. Harry didn't want to go into that room. He couldn't bear to watch his mother die. But he was alone, and the pensieve was dragging him along for the show. _If only I had had brought someone. But then they would be in danger too! This must be my fight…my fight alone…Why am I alone? Someone, anyone, please help!_ The march of death inside the pensieve had drained Harry's mind, his soul, to the point where he sat, pleading, for someone to help him. But as he sunk to the floor outside his mother's room, waiting to hear her dying screams, he heard a different sound.

From far off, he heard it. A soft, floating melody, like a breath of fresh air. He listened, with hope growing inside his heart. It was the sound that had come to mean hope, joy, and safety. It was the call of a Phoenix. The song grew louder and louder, until it filled his whole mind with sweet music. The music broke the spell of the pensieve, and his view of his house shimmered in front of his eyes. The song grew louder and louder, until…

"I think that will do," said a soft voice at Harry's shoulder. He looked up. And standing above him was Albus Dumbledore.

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"Professor! You're alive?"

"In a way, Harry. I'm afraid in another way, I am very much dead. But the fact that you called me here shows that death is merely a new beginning. Sometimes you can avoid it; other times you must embrace it."

"How could you hear me, Sir?" Asked Harry. The house had completely faded away now, leaving Harry and Professor Dumbledore standing in what seemed a misty canvas, stretching on in every direction.

"This pensieve holds many thoughts," replied Dumbledore. "This was another of Voldemort's tests, I'm afraid. Instead of draining you of strength, or attempting to kill you with inferi, Voldemort used his most potent weapon against you."

"What is that, Sir?"

"Despair. Had you been left to your thoughts much longer, I daresay he would have succeeded in causing you to lose all hope. And then your life would no longer have mattered. But, luckily, you had the good sense to ask for help when necessary."

"But how did you hear me? And why would Voldemort put you into memories supposed to cause me to despair?"

"Well," said Dumbledore, "I'm afraid that Voldemort himself could not place this pensieve here. Did you notice how the stone was different than that of the tombs? I would venture a guess that this pensieve was placed here by one of Voldemort's servants, perhaps on his orders. I would say, sometime before he gained his body, but after he had returned after you first year. Into this pensieve, he poured memories he had collected over the years, of the greatest triumphs of the Dark Order. However, his servant mustn't have done the job very well, because a few brief flashes of me were interspersed in between each episode. So, I was always there, waiting for some one to ask for help. And may I say I'm glad you did! But where are Ron and Hermione?"

"I'm doing this alone," said Harry gruffly. "It's not their fight."

"I was under the impression that it was all of our fight. I died, not only for you, Harry. But for the rest of them too. And if they choose to use my sacrifice to come and fight along your side, I wouldn't stop them. Ron and Hermione have earned your inclusion."

"Its not safe with me."

"Is it much safer anywhere else? You fought Voldemort to a standstill, Harry. Mostly on your own. I would vouch that the safest place to be in the world was wherever you were."

"It wasn't enough for you, Professor."

"Well, I was a special case," said Dumbledore, smiling. "My act in the play had finished. It was time for the old actor to step off and let the star have his moment in the limelight. In that case, it was either you or me that had to die, and I gladly chose myself. When I asked Severus to end it…"

"You ASKED him? You were begging for your life from that maniac!"

"No, Harry. I was begging for my life to end. Snape knew what he had to do, in order to keep up appearances, in order for you to survive. I'm sure it was just as difficult for him as it was for me, if not more so. For I did not have to _live_ with my decision after it was over."

"I still can't believe you're gone, sir."

"Gone, but not forgotten. And that is all I could ask for. Now, Harry. Do you know why you were shown these things?"

Harry paused. "In order…to stop me from finding the Horcrux. And it worked."

"It did not," said Dumbledore, triumphantly. "Whoever created this stream of memories left clues. All of the scenes were those of Dark Victories, except for the last one. Would you say your parent's death was a victory for Voldemort?"

"Yes, he succeeded in killing them."

"But not in killing you, Harry. This was in fact his greatest defeat! And whoever wove this spell knew that. He left the door open for help to arrive. He allowed hope to flood in through the cracks of sorrow. He wanted you to see the death of Lily and James for another reason. But what did it show you?"

"I saw…I saw my dad die. And then Voldemort did something with his wand."

"Replaced it. I think he always took precautions with Horcruxes, just in case anything would happen. Voldemort is nothing if not careful. And what did you notice about the wand?"

"It was old," Said Harry, searching his memory. "And…it had a gnarly base to it. It was white, I think."

"It was. Harry, do you see the plan arising now? If anything had happened to Voldemort, people would think that the white wand was that of James Potter, and the Horcrux would have been buried with him, safe for all eternity. Now, whose wand was it?"

Harry thought hard. It didn't have an insignia, but it didn't seem right that it would belong to Ravenclaw. "Was it…Gryffindor's wand?"

"Good for you, Harry! It was indeed. And it was the reason your parents moved to Godric's Hollow in the first place. They had conspired among their friends to enter the protection of the Fidelius Charm not only because they wanted to hide, but because they had found a relic of Gryffindor, and Voldemort must never know. Unfortunately, I'm afraid they told all of this to Peter Pettigrew, and he made bad use of this information. But now, we (or rather you) are able to remedy this! You know what you must do, Harry?"

"I do, but I do know if I can do it alone…"

"I have faith in you, Harry. You can do anything you set your mind to."

"But I've made so many mistakes! I couldn't protect you! I couldn't protect Ginny! How can I keep going and doing this? Any of this? Everything that Voldemort showed me was true!"

"It was only half true. There were many stories he neglected to show you, stories of victory. I myself saved my battle with the dark Wizard Grindelwald, and the subsequent downfall of the Third Reich. There are two sides to every story, Harry. If a person only shows you one, it is because he wants you to believe him, not the truth."

"But what about me? I'm not a great wizard!"

Dumbledore looked serious. "You are a great wizard Harry. You are flawed, yes. You have not gone without hardship, you have known defeat, and have seen those closest to you die. The history books are full of broken heroes. And even a few who have blurred the line between hero and villain. Do not sell your story short, Harry. You will be an even greater wizard, but you must face your fears of loss and _allow_ yourself to be. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded.

"Good. Now, out of this dreary landscape, I think. And make sure to keep the Horcruxes safe. And your friends too! Goodbye, Harry."

Goodbye, Professor…"

The world shifted, Harry felt his feet leave the ground, and in a moment, he found himself kneeling over the graves of his parents once more.

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For the next few moments, Harry stayed very still, planning his next course of action. There was no other way. This was going to be painful, but it had to be done. Harry stood, nodded to himself, steadied his trembling wand in his hand, and muttered "Diffendo!"

The ground at Harry's feet split like the Biblical Red Sea, and to Harry's surprise, he saw not two coffins, but one. Gritting his teeth, he pulled open the side of his parent's coffin.

He didn't know if he could have done it if he opened his eyes to see his parent's faces staring at him. But all he saw were two skeletons, lying serenely under the earth, their hands still clasped together. But in their other hands were clasped their wands. And Harry could see that his father's wands was gnarly and white.

"Sorry, Dad. I'll put this right in a sec. And I'll put the rest of it right soon enough." He pulled the wand from his father's hand. The wand shone bright white in the sun, as if doubling its normal sheen due to its long incarceration. Harry sighed. He had done it. He had found Gryffindor's Horcrux. Climbing out of the hole he had made, Harry pointed his wand at the recently moved dirt and said "Wingardium Leviosa." The dirt lazily lifted its way into the air, and plopped back to the earth, covering Harry's parents again. Satisfied that he was leaving it exactly as he had found it, Harry turned away from his parents, and lifted his wand arm.

With a loud BANG, Stan Shunpike and the Knight Bus stood before him. Stan grinned as he helped Harry aboard, offering him a cup of hot cocoa. "Geez, you look like you've been through the wringer, you do!" Said Stan with a wave at Ernie, who closed the doors and started the bus with a BANG. "Well, hope it was worth it? You get what you wanted out of this?"

"In more ways than one, Stan. In more ways than one."

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I know you are reading, but it would really make me happy if your told me what you thought about it afterwards. Please review!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: As always, none of these characters belong to anyone but JK Rowling. And special thanks to Monica, the ultimate Browncoat, for helping my writing be pretty!

Harry Potter and the Marauder's Vendetta

Chapter 5: Funeral for a Friend

The Knight Bus popped out of sight after Harry got off, and he began the trek up to the Weasley's front door. The search for Gryffindor's Horcrux had posed many more questions, but had also solidified a few facts in his mind. He was going to include Ron and Hermione in his quest from now on. Dumbledore had convinced him that it was foolish to attempt something like this alone. Also, he had made up his mind about where he needed to go next. He was sure Ron would not be too happy with it, but would go; Hermione would more than likely be excited about his choice.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked up as the back door opened and Mr. Weasley gave Harry a watery smile.

"Hermione's been looking for you all morning. I assume you had a good reason for keeping us all out of the loop?" Harry nodded.

"Give this to the Order. Tell them to put it with the rest of the Horcruxes." He tossed the wand to Mr. Weasley, who snatched it out of the air.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "A wand? And who might have this belonged to?"

"Godric Gryffindor." Harry paused taking a deep breath. "And more recently, my father. That's why I had to go alone; at least this time. This one was a family affair."

"We…we are family." Harry turned as Mrs. Weasley spoke, for it had been days since anyone had heard her voice. It was rough and brittle from sadness and disuse, but managed to retain its warmth underneath. "You should have told us, dear. We wouldn't have stopped you. We might've been able to help."

Harry tried to keep eye contact, but couldn't. He knew she was right, and he was wrong to have acted as he had.

"I know, Mrs. Weasley. I'm sorry. Trust me, it'll never happen again." He went around the table, and let Mrs. Weasley wrap her arms around him.

"We were all so worried about you, Harry. I thought I'd lost you, too!" Harry stood there as Mrs. Weasley softly cried into his shoulder. After a minute, Mr. Weasley gently pried her away.

"I think Ron and Hermione are upstairs," said Mr. Weasley. "Go see them, before Hermione starts putting up flyers with your face on it." Harry grinned, nodded, and headed toward the staircase.

Bill and Fleur were cradling each other in the living room. They both looked exhausted. Harry was reminded how much it helped to have someone you could trust, someone to rely on, as he saw the newlywed couple supporting each other. Bill looked up as Harry entered the room.

"Harry! You know, Hermione's looking for you."

"Is she? I hadn't heard." said Harry, with a grin.

"Yeah, and you best be seeing her. She seems to be in a bad state, what with you leaving unannounced. Last I saw she went searching upstairs for you."

"Thanks." As Harry climbed the stairs, he heard a commotion in the twin's room. The twins, along with Charlie and (much to Harry's surprise) Percy, were all picking sides for Quidditch.

"Fred, you and George can't be on a team together! Perce and I will get knocked out in the first ten seconds! After that, it won't matter that you two handle the Quaffle like Mundungus Fletcher handles his Fire-Whiskey–"

"Oh, so you think we can't handle the Quaffle, is that it?" George said, interrupting Charlie. "May I remind you of the day Ginny flew rings around you, stole the Quaffle out from your arms, and scored two goals before you even realized it was gone? That was a fine play wasn't it, Fred?"

"'Specially for a three year old girl, George. But I guess taking the Quaffle from our dear brother is like taking dung from a–"

"Harry!" Percy shouted from across the room. "You're back. Good to see you! Say, you want to take my place? The boys here are about to start a Quidditch match, and I'm afraid I'm ill-prepared."

"No way!" said Charlie, picking up a broom and tossing it to Percy. "You're playing Perce. It's time we cracked you out of your shell a bit. And besides, Harry has other things on his mind!" He winked at Harry. "Hermione's…"

"Looking for me, I know."

"She is indeed! Oh, you are a lucky young wizard, Harry Potter, Hermione's a delightful young witch!" Harry gawked at Charlie.

"But–well…I'm sure _that's_ not the reason she's looking for me!" All the brothers laughed at Harry's blushing face.

"Looks like a turnip, I'd say!" said George. "Go on. Both she and Ron are in Ginny's room. Knock 'em dead, Tiger!" Harry sulked out of the room, listening to all the brothers erupting with laughter behind him. _That wasn't the reason she was looking for him. Couldn't be._ He grinned embarrassedly, running his hand through his hair. Hermione was made for Ron, not for him.

_Speaking of Hermione and Ron…_Here was the proof she wasn't for him.

"Excuse me, but I heard someone was looking for me? Or should I come back later?" Harry had walked into Ginny's room to find Ron and Hermione about an inch away from each other, and his words split them apart. In later days, Harry would wonder about his reasons behind stopping them. But for now, he enjoyed the looks on his two best friend's faces. Ron looked flustered and immediately began playing with his hair and seemed very interested in the ceiling. His thoughts were interrupted, however, by a mass of brown hair headed his direction at high velocity.

"HARRY!" yelled Hermione, nearly bowling him over. "Where have you been? We've all been so worried about you! You could've sent an owl or SOMEthing! How many times have I told you that acting like a lonesome hero is not the way to go after Volde–"

"I know, Hermione," said Harry, trying to pry her off in a panic. "I'm sorry. But it was personal."

"It's ALL personal! You should've told us! You should've let me know! Or Ron! Or any of us! Oh Harry, we were all so worried…"

"So you went to Godric's Hollow?" said Ron, assisting Harry in untying Harry from Hermione.

Harry nodded, and filled the two of them in on his journey, his discovery at his parent's tomb, and Dumbledore's return in the pensieve. When he was finished, Ron and Hermione sat in silence.

"And well, I just wanted to let the two of you know that if you want in, you're in. I won't do something like this again without either of you having the chance to go with me."

"Don't be a prat, Harry! Of course we're in!" Said Ron, getting up and slapping Harry on the back.

"All for one and one for all!" Hermione agreed. She ran her hand down his arm from his shoulder and the sensation caused that same sense of panic he felt when Hermione had hugged him. He gazed down at her, and seemed to feel her amber eyes looking deep within him…

SMACK!

Hermione had playfully hit him on the back of his head, and the strange panic disappeared, erased from his mind by the familiar admonition of his best friend; "Don't scare us like that again!" She said with a smile.

"Ouch! Alright, I promise!"

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That night, the Order met again in the Weasley dining room. It was the first meeting since Ginny's death three days before, and all of the Order members were careful to deal with the subject tactfully. Whenever the wedding was brought up, people were sure to refer to it as "The Incident" and to discuss it with the proper amount of respect.

Harry, of course, was made to repeat the memories he had seen in the Gryffindor pensieve, and had to endure several harsh lectures from Lupin, Moody, Mrs. Weasley, and Hermione about how foolhardy and thoughtless his trip was. However, they were all delighted with his discovery.

"So we've got the wand, the locket, the ring, and the diary," said Harry, counting them off on his fingers. "So we've got three more out there somewhere…"

"Two more," interrupted Lupin. "The last one is the piece of the soul that Voldemort kept inside himself."

"Oh, right. Sorry." (**A/N:** This is to clarify a dummy mistake I made in an earlier chapter counting Horcruxes. Thanks to Phiso for setting me straight!)

"Well, that leaves us with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. And we're almost certain that Hufflepuff's Horcrux will be the cup," said Hermione.

"Yes," replied Lupin, "but unfortunately, no such evidence exists for what Ravenclaw's could possibly be. She didn't seem to leave anything behind." He paused and looked around at the other Order members. "Any ideas?"

"We know where to start looking," said Harry. "Hogwarts. I'd like a chance to go there over the summer. And I'm planning to return there in the fall."

"You are?" Ron asked, surprised. Harry could tell by the look in his eyes that he had been looking forward to a yearlong adventure; more importantly, the kind that didn't involve homework. Hermione, on the other hand, looked elated.

"We'll be going with you, of course, then."

"Thanks," said Harry. "I'm guessing that if there was anywhere that two important magical objects might be able to disappear, it would be Hogwarts. And besides, there might be some good in getting a little more schooling in magic before I go up against that Seventh Horcrux." Ron and Hermione shuddered at the thought of just where that Horcrux was located.

"I'm sure Professor McGonagall will be thrilled to have you all back next year." Lupin said from across the table. "And I'll make sure you get more than the regular training too; a bit more of a "hands-on" aspect." Harry grinned as Mr. Weasley stood.

"Any more business?" After the assembled Order members shook their heads, he cleared his throat and said, "Well, then I have one more announcement. This past week has been one of the hardest ever for our family, and I can't tell you how much we appreciate your friendship, and your comfort. Well, tomorrow, Ginny will be laid to rest. And I'd like to say you are all welcome to be with us as we–as we say goodbye." Mr. Weasley's voice trembled at "goodbye," and his wife put her arm around him. The crowd silently nodded their heads, promised that they would be there, and slowly began to leave the table, one by one. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were the last to leave. As Harry made his way through the darkened house, Ron caught his arm.

"You ready for this, mate?"

"Am I?" Harry asked, shocked. "Ron, she was your sister. This is one of the times when I don't care about Voldemort, or Death Eaters, or any nonsense I'm going to be doing in the next few months, years, or decades. Right now, I'm here for you. Now, are you ready for this?"

Ron looked down at the floor. When he looked up, Harry could tell that he really wasn't ready for the funeral of his sister. But he nodded his head once, sharply.

"Whether I'm ready or not, its here."

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Mrs. Weasley told them that the funeral the next day would be a private affair. The Weasley house had a small tract of land behind their home, where the field met a forest, and had made a large piece of the land a family graveyard.

The funeral began at sunset the next day. The only mourners in attendance were the Weasley family, Harry, Lupin, Moody, Tonks, who kept close to Lupin throughout the entire service, and Professor McGonagall. Harry couldn't help but think of the difference between this service and the wedding that had begun the week. There was no preacher, no one said any eulogy, and Harry felt he knew why. _What could be said that hadn't already been said a hundred times over?_ This was not a time for stories or remembrance; it was a chance to find some semblance of closure.

The summer air turned brisk around them, as if the weather itself were in mourning. Clouds blotted out the July sun as the small horse-drawn hearse appeared over the hill, and the air actually became icy. And then, with a silence so profound it was palpable, snow began to fall.

Harry was stunned. He looked around, and saw that tears blotted every face. Even Fred and George were letting them flow unabated, defiant towards the evil that had caused their sadness. Harry felt the magic in the air give a tremendous upsurge as the hearse pulled to a stop in front of them, and the wind blew even harder; the snow even stronger.

Ron and all his brothers walked up to the coffin, and with a somber nod to each other, heaved it onto their shoulders, carrying not only the physical weight of their sister, but the emotional weight of the past week as well. And slowly, step by step, they marched through the increasing blizzard.

Next to him in the small crowd stood Hermione, and out of the corner of his eye Harry saw her shiver. Without moving his eyes from the steady procession, he pulled one hand from his pocket and placed it over hers. He felt her hand squeeze his; and knew she meant it as a sign of thanks, and of comfort, and yet, as he held her amber gaze in his, unbidden into his mind came the thought that it could be something more. He broke eye contact with her and mentally shook himself away from that line of thought.

_Now is not the time. _

He focused back on the procession, and saw they had nearly reached the burial site. Each brother took his time, positioning the body of their only sister in the middle of the ground, and knelt, lowering the casket into the ground. The only sound was that of Mrs. Weasley's sobbing, Mr. Weasley softly murmuring words of comfort, and the muffled noise of falling snow. Then, each brother stepped away from the newly made grave, and looked to their parents. Mrs. Weasley composed her face as she and Mr. Weasley stepped forward, and along with the rest of their family, pointed their wands to the earth. A pure white marble slab suddenly filled the hole that had been dug; there were rubies placed into the four corners, each as red as Ginny's hair. With his wand, Mr. Weasley shot fire into the marble, and when he had finished, there was a shining silver inscription on the previously bare rock.

Ginerva Molly Weasley

August 11, 1981-July 31, 1997

The assembled crowd slowly filed past the newly made grave, some stopping to say their final goodbyes. Hermione walked by and quietly blew a kiss to her friend. And then it was Harry's turn. He didn't know what to do or say, all his emotions seemed fit to burst, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold them in. A choking sob swelled up in his throat, and he finally let go. With a great moan of sorrow, he fell to his knees in front of the grave of his first love, and cried. He didn't know how long he was there. He didn't care.

By the time he looked up he was alone, the magical snow had melted away, and the warmth of summer had returned to the forest around him. He got up, and swayed, feeling the stress and emotions of the last few days manifesting itself in an exhaustion of his whole being. The pain was still there, so much that he felt himself sway under its pressure. A hand caught his arm, and Harry turned to find Hermione, holding his arm tight against her, his hand clasped in hers, her face close and full of understanding.

"Ron went back with the rest of his family," she said, "but I thought you might need someone right now, too."

"Oh, Hermione…" Harry whispered, and then he felt the sadness and pain rise up in him again, and he buried his face in her shoulder, crying. He felt her strong hands and arms wrap around him as Hermione held him close. He could smell her hair, feel her soft breath on the back of his neck, and heard her as she whispered unintelligible words of comfort into his ear. Slowly, his crying stopped.

But he didn't let go. He couldn't. He had found comfort in her arms and felt some of his pain beginning to drain away. Slowly, Harry lifted his head and looked into his best friend's eyes. She looked back at him, unblinking.

The world seemed to pause around them.

And then: "We should get back. They'll be worried about us." Harry heard his own voice say the words, but couldn't understand why. Hermione looked at him quizzically.

"Yes. I suppose we should." She turned, and began to make her way down the path back toward the Weasley house in the distance. Harry suddenly felt as if he had done something wrong. _Why am I making excuses not to be alone with her? We've been alone together plenty of times! Don't be a prat, Harry! _He ran to catch up with her, walking the rest of the path by her side. She caught his eye, and he grinned.

"Thanks for staying with me." He said.

"Don't mention it." She gave him a quick squeeze, and together they walked back to the Weasley's house.

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Later that night, Fred and George sat down, with two bottles of Ogden's Best Fire Whiskey. The house had been subdued since the funeral, each person unsure of what to do next, but it seemed the twins had an idea.

"Ginny wouldn't want us to be moping around like this. C'mon, everyone, we're going to have a drink in her memory. And if the spirit moves us, we may have more than one!"

Family and friends all gathered 'round the table, and the twins poured everyone a shot.

"To Ginny!" the twins said, lifting their glasses.

"To Ginny" echoed the rest of the group, and all tossed back the glasses.

Harry gasped and spluttered as he followed the twin's example and drank all his whiskey down in one big gulp. He looked over at Ron, who had managed to keep his down but was turning an interesting shade of green; Hermione, next to Ron, had abandoned all pretense and was gulping water to quell the fire in her throat. The adults, however, slammed their glasses down on the table, and pounded them twice, a sign of what Harry could only assume was pleasure.

"I have to say," said Lupin, smacking his lips, "That is the finest fire whiskey I've had in quite some time."

"Really, Remus?" said Tonks smiling coyly at him. "I didn't think you were much for the hard stuff."

"Well, if the occasion calls," muttered Lupin, grinning self-consciously. "The last time I had whiskey like this was also at a funeral." He winked at Moody, who, to Harry's surprise, let out a harsh burst of laughter.

"You four had some of the worst ideas back in those days! I remember Lily would have no part of it!"

"Not when we came up with the plan, but later!" Said Lupin, laughing even harder.

Harry sat, stunned.

"What do you mean, my mum would have no part in a funeral?"

"It wasn't a true funeral, Harry." Lupin explained. "You see, back in the days right after graduation, a gullible pen pal of ours came for a visit from America. Now, James and Sirius had been buttering him up about the great time we were always having. And he said that he had heard that English funerals could get very jovial indeed. WELL! We didn't have the heart to set him to rights and tell him that it was Irish funerals he was thinking of, which, may I say, can be downright dangerous. So, the four of us Marauders decided to give the man a "jovial" English funeral; of course that left the problem of a corpse."

"So you four thought it would be funny to stage a funeral?" said Harry, aghast.

"We couldn't pass it up, I'm afraid. We had told him all sorts of ridiculous lies about our burial customs here, things like, keeping the corpse on the kitchen table before hand and that there was no need for the dead to keep their clothes, so the dead man would be stark naked under a sheet. Oh, and we told him that it was customary for any visitor to buy drinks for the rest of us!" Harry couldn't believe it, but the rest of the table began to laugh. Even Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were chortling by this time.

Bill cut through the laughter to ask, "But you were saying you needed a corpse?"

"Yes indeed! Now Sirius said he'd be willing to give us one of his family members, but we talked him out of it," said Lupin, pouring another glass during the break as the assembled crowd laughed knowingly, even Harry. "In the end, we all drew straws, and it was James who would be our corpse." The crowd around the table laughed. Harry was interested now. He barely ever got to hear about his parents, other than to hear that they had died.

"Now as I said, Lily wanted nothing to do with this plan. However, James was finally able to talk her into staying for at least the first few minutes, and then she could leave whenever she wanted. So, we had James, completely starkers, under Lily's finest sheet on the table, and this American bloke walks in with four pints of fire whiskey!" Harry, by now, was laughing along with the rest of the group.

"Before any of this, though, we had made a deal with our "corpse" that for every pint we put away, we'd put a cup of whiskey for him up on the shelf. After all, he had given up on the fun part of the night, and it was thirsty work being dead. But after a few rounds, Sirius began to edge closer to James's stash up on that shelf. The first cup he drank, James didn't move. When cup number two found its way into Sirius's hands, we all saw James twitch under the cover. But Lily, who had decided to stay, muttered at him to 'KEEP QUIET!'"

"There was only so much keeping quiet James could do after he saw Sirius go for a third cup of his whiskey. By this time, James had been under the cover for three hours, and he couldn't take any more! He jumped up, ripped off the sheet, naked as the day he was born, and snatched his cup from Sirius! And then, staring daggers, he looked him the eye and said, "OH, I always knew you were a THIEF, Sirius Black! But I had to come back from my grave to catch you!" Lupin finished, standing up in an imitation of James, and the entire group burst into laughter.

"Well, it ended up working well enough for James anyway," chuckled Moody. "The way I heard it, he'd been proposing to Lily on and off for three weeks. It was only after she finally got to see…well…WHO she was marrying that she said yes!"

"Goodness!" cried Mr. Weasley, "Is that how they choose spouses these days? It was much simpler in my time. Much simpler…" He paused to pour another glass, before continuing. "When Molly and I were married, we didn't even have the luxury of an empty house! There we were, on our honeymoon night, with a house full of Weasleys and Prewetts, with no privacy at all. Of course, it didn't matter at first, since everyone ended up staying awake 'til dawn, but all those relations can become a bit tedious when you just want to get to bed. Luckily, my parents (it was at their house) vacated their old bedroom, and told us we could have it for the evening. Well, no sooner than we closed the door, then there was a scraping outside of it, and when we tried the latch, it wouldn't move an inch! We were given our privacy by an ancient chest of drawers, which they had all pushed in front of the door. Old-style soundproofing, I suppose you'd call it."

"And what noises were they trying to block out, dad?" said Fred, slyly.

"Never you mind, boys. And that's quite enough fire-whiskey. You'll be up half the night sick if you don't slow down!"

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The stories grew louder and wilder throughout the night, but slowly, the adults went off to bed, followed by Bill and Fleur, Charlie, Percy, and the twins. At last, it was only Harry, Ron, and Hermione hunched close together by the dying embers, telling stories of their own. Hermione was telling a story about how her father had gone to his wedding with his pants rolled up to the knees when Harry looked around and noticed Ron was asleep in his chair, drooling a little out of the corner of his mouth. When Hermione finished, he pointed this out.

"Well honestly, it wasn't that boring of a story!" she said, pretending to be cross.

"I thought it was interesting," said Harry defensively. "I've never heard anything about your family. You don't have any other siblings, right?"

Hermione shook her head. "My mum had complications with my younger sister, and the baby died only a few hours later. I don't know if she can't have children anymore, or just doesn't want to, but I became a permanent "only child" that day." Harry looked down at his lap. He didn't know how to respond.

"I guess…that's why I don't talk about my family that much. We seem like a normal, happy family, but there are things that hurt once you get beneath the surface."

"Beneath the surface is where a person really lies," said Harry. "On the surface, I'm some Superman, flying in and saving the day every chance I get, locked in a struggle with some evil git. But would you say that's all there is to me?"

"Oh no, Harry! You're so much more than that! Anyone who's known you would know that there's so much more to you!"

"Exactly. Just like anyone who gets to know you like Ron and I have knows that you're not a bookworm. Well, you ARE a bookworm, and a bit of a know-it-all, but that's not all there is to Hermione Jane Granger." Hermione blushed and giggled. "But honestly, I can't imagine my life without you, Hermione. I just can't think of a world without you in it." Hermione took Harry's hands in hers.

"Oh, Harry…That's the best compliment you could have ever given me." And suddenly, she was in his arms, his face was buried in her thick hair, and the last of his pain slid silently away.

"I meant it, Hermione." he whispered.

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Oh please, for the love of all that is good and holy, Please read and review this!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Unless I'm possessed, I'm not J.K. Rowling. Many miraculous mentions of my mirthsome, magnificent minstrel of editing, Ms. M! Thanks for all your help!

You are all wonderful readers, and I'm thankful you've chosen my story. But I'd really love to hear from all of you what you think of it too. Thanks again.

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Harry Potter and the Marauder's Vendetta

Chapter 6: The Belated Birthday

Harry woke the day after the funeral to a rain-splattered sky and a splitting headache. Vaguely, he recalled watching Hermione and Ron stumble up the stairs as he dragged himself behind them around three in the morning, helping Hermione and Ron into their respective beds, and then falling, fully clothed, into his own. The night had been wonderful; exactly what everyone needed to work through the sadness of the afternoon.

However, the party of mountain trolls very rudely doing construction inside his skull this morning was telling him the fire-whiskey had been a terrible idea. As Harry staggered his way downstairs, making promises to various deities that he would never drink again if only they would remove his pounding head, he wondered foggily if anyone else was up yet, or if today would be spent sleeping in.

His question was answered as he reached the bottom of the steps, and the smell of hot coffe**e** met his nose. The smell was like water to a dying man, and he tottered as quickly as his unsteady legs and throbbing head would allow him toward the kitchen.

Apparently, most everyone else had decided to sleep in that morning, as only Professor Lupin and Mrs. Weasley were up and about; though Mrs. Weasley looked to be the only one "up and about" as she was preparing a large breakfast while Lupin, looking slightly queasy, was nursing a steaming mug of coffee. He looked up and Harry realized that the Professor looked as bad as Harry felt.

"Ah, good to see you up so…" Harry frantically waved his hands, trying to get Lupin to lower his voice. "Ah…yes. It looks like you are feeling the reasons WHY I haven't had such strong fire-whiskey in a long time."

"Do I look that bad?" said Harry, apprehensively.

"Like death on toast," Lupin murmured, quickly pouring another mug of coffee for Harry. "I'm afraid its quite strong, but I suggest you drink it all."

"Sit, dear," said Mrs. Weasley. "You look dead on your feet. Honestly, giving underage wizards fire-whiskey. I don't know what we were thinking…"

"I'm not underage anymore," said Harry. "I came of age on Bill and Fleur's wedding Day."

Mrs. Weasley paused briefly, embarrassed.

"Oh. Oh yes, well I forgot, what with all the other occurrences since then. But," she said, recovering quickly, "of age or not, I daresay I'd like to see a few more days between your birthday and your next drinking day." _I was thinking the same thing_, thought Harry. "Now eat something." Mrs. Weasley thrust a plate of sausages and eggs in front of him, heedless of he or Lupin's pounding heads. Harry's stomach did a wobbling belly flop at the amount of food but at Mrs. Weasley's emphatic "EAT," he picked up his fork.

"Where's everyone else?" said Harry, tentatively taking a bite of his first sausage.

"Most of the adults are off to work," said Mrs. Weasley, throwing some more food onto the stove. "Honestly, I told Arthur anyone would understand missing a day after the fun…after the day we all had yesterday. But he said he wanted to get back into the daily routine again. Honestly, a few days off…But you can't argue with him." She stopped stirring a new batch of scrambled eggs and sat on a stool, mopping her brow.

"And everyone else is asleep?" Harry prompted.

"I expect so!" said Mrs. Weasley, giving him a wry smile. "I heard you all trudging up the stairs at quite an entirely inhospitable hour! Oh, my poor Ron. He's always had a very…delicate system." Harry snorted into his cup of coffee before groaning quietly at the renewed mountain troll activity behind his eyeballs.

"And speak of the devil!" Lupin said at full volume before cringing back into his coffee, as Harry saw Ron and Hermione enter the kitchen. Ron was slouching like a zombie Harry had seen in a film once and Hermione looked as if she were trying to walk on eggshells without breaking them.

"Coffee and breakfast for the both of you!" barked Mrs. Weasley before either could protest. "And may this be a lesson to all of you, including YOU, Remus." They all shushed her waving hands in her direction as Lupin rubbed his temples and nodded. Ron and Hermione seated themselves at the table and were soon provided with food (left almost untouched) and strong coffee (that was pounced on).

"Morning, Ron. Hermione." Said Harry, smiling as both his friends flinched at the sudden noise. He was glad he wasn't the only one who had to deal with the headache from hell this morning.

"Ohhhhhh, Harry, you're going to want to speak very quietly right now," said Hermione rubbing her forehead. "I only wish I could remember that headache remedy I read in _Basic Maladies and Their Remedies_. But I can't seem to remember much of anything right now."

"Mountain trolls?" Harry asked quietly.

"Hmm?" Hermione wondered distractedly, attempting to relearn how to get the cream into her coffee cup.

"I'm having trouble with my name," Ron said, with a pained grin on his face, before dropping his head onto his folded arms on the tabletop.

"Delicate system, Ron?" Harry asked, grinning.

"Shut up." He mumbled; lifting his head enough to shoot a glare at Harry before pulling his coffee cup close, crooking his arm around it and putting his head down again.

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Since it was raining out (and also due to the fact that none of them wanted to move around too much) Harry, Ron, and Hermione all sat in the living room, studying any books that could help them figure out what Rowena Ravenclaw's Horcrux might be. Hermione was flipping through her worn-out copy of _Hogwarts: A History_, silently mouthing words to herself and occasionally giving a great sigh of frustration. Ron had been reading the same page of _Clever Bird: Ravenclaw and the Magical World_ for the past twenty minutes, and Harry saw his eyes flicking over the same lines again and again. Harry had out a book called _The Four Founders,_ and was flipping through all the pictures they had of Rowena Ravenclaw, trying to see something that he had perhaps seen around the castle."

After an hour, Ron closed his book with a snap, making the other two jump. Thankfully Harry's mountain trolls didn't like coffee and had left him soon after breakfast.

"There's nothing here!" Ron moaned, flopping back in his chair. "According to this book, she was the most secretive of the founders, and the only thing she definitively left in the castle are the moving staircases! And I doubt that You-Know-Who put his soul into some flight of stairs!"

Hermione frowned.

"There had to have been something else. Some relic, or artifact that only she knew about…but what?"

"I bet someone in Ravenclaw might know," said Harry. "Maybe it's in their house Common Room or something."

"I don't know…The Common Room would be very conspicuous. And also, how would Voldemort be able to get into there?" Hermione wondered aloud. "Unless he got a password. Or he could pass through walls… That's it!"

"What's it?" said Ron. "He could pass through walls?"

"No!" said Hermione earnestly. "I know who might know where the Horcrux is! The Grey Lady!"

"Who?" said Ron.

"The Ravenclaw House Ghost! Any House Ghost has been at the castle for ages, and if there is something in the Ravenclaw Common Room, she'd be the one to know."

"Oh yeah," said Harry, a picture of the Grey Lady forming in his head. "She's the quiet one. You think she'll help us? I heard she's pretty exclusive to just the Ravenclaws."

"We'll have to try," said Hermione. Her face had become rigidly set, and Harry was surprised by the determination. _I'm lucky to have them, _he thought. _Both of them._

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That night, the trio decided they would be going to Hogwarts the very next day. The rest of the night was spent trying to find anything that might have belonged to Ravenclaw, but they came up short.

"I guess we'll just have to hope that The Grey Lady knows," said Hermione as the clock struck one. "C'mon, we all need some sleep before the trip tomorrow."

But Harry couldn't sleep. His dreams mixed with memory, so that he was forced to relive Dumbledore's death in the astronomy tower, followed by Ginny's murder, followed by Sirius falling through the veil. Then, to his horror, he saw his parents, fighting, pleading with Voldemort, and then the inevitable flash of green light…

"Harry? Harry!"

Harry shot awake as a light flicked on in the room, and there was Ron standing over him, jostling him awake. It took him a second to completely understand what had just happened.

"You all right, mate? Was it…was it You-Know-Who?"

"I'm not sure," said Harry, rubbing his eyes. He felt his scar. It was normal. "It might've just been a nightmare. Sorry to have woken you, Ron."

"No problem. We're supposed to be getting up soon anyway. Hermione's way too into this whole 'detective' thing. She wants to be at Hogwarts by seven! In the morning! It's not like we'll get there and Hogwarts'll have disappeared!" Harry yawned and began to agree, but was interrupted by Hermione opening the door and bounding in, looking cheery.

"You're up already? Wonderful! I was really worried we'd lose time to you two sleeping in. I'm glad you're finally taking some initiative! Honestly, I'm moved!" Ron rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

"Yeah, well, I guess we'd better move ourselves a bit faster, if you want to be there on time, Hermione." Harry smirked at Ron's slight jibe at their overexcited friend but got ready nonetheless.

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The first thing Harry saw after stepping out of the fireplace in the Three Broomsticks was Professor McGonagall, looking sternly at the three of them.

"I just don't know if this is a good idea; the three of you waltzing around the school, going into another House's Common Room. It's all quite out of the ordinary."

"What," said Harry, "Don't you trust us? We aren't going to do anything in there. We're just looking for the Horcrux."

"I know that, Potter!" said McGonagall angrily. "But I'm worried that the _castle_ might not like you three banging around in a Common Room that isn't yours while the start of term is still weeks away!"

Harry nodded. "We've got no choice, Professor. If the Horcrux is in there, we can get it. If not, I guess its one less place we have to look."

The stone floors of Hogwarts echoed with every step as Harry, Ron, and Hermione moved through the nearly deserted castle. Harry shuddered as wind echoed through the normally bustling halls. _It's so quiet here. No students, barely any teachers. I feel like I'm on a different planet._ None of them spoke as they made their way down the silent corridors, and up the West tower, looking for a painting of an owl, which according to Professor McGonagall was the entrance to the Ravenclaw Common Room. Harry just hoped the owl hadn't gone off hunting somewhere. _It's hard enough to find one specific painting among the hundreds on every wall, let alone one with something as mobile as a bird in it…_

Harry's musings were cut off by the unnerving feeling that he had just walked through ice water. He started, and realized that he had accidentally walked through Nearly-Headless Nick, the Gryffindor House ghost. His teeth chattering, Harry gave the ghost a grin.

"Morning, Nick, Didn't see you there!"

"Good morning, Harry. Well, I didn't expect to see you three here so soon. And yet, I suppose with you three, I should not expect anything in the realm of the ordinary. What brings you to Hogwarts this early?"

"We're looking for the Ravenclaw Common Room," explained Hermione, and then informed Nick of the rest of their mission. Nick frowned, stroking his pointed beard, causing his head to wobble precariously on top of his neck.

"I'm not sure I would go knocking on their front door," Nick said as Hermione finished. "Each house valiantly guards its secrets, but no one values them more than the Grey Lady."

"Who is she? Or rather, who was she?" said Ron.

"The Grey Lady is one of the longest residing ghosts here. She was a young witch when she died, brilliant and superior both in mind and in ego. In her entire life, she never met any man or woman who could match her intelligence. However, I'm afraid life at the top got quite lonely for her, and she took her own life one stormy evening. Well, not much has changed in death. She still considers herself above all the other ghosts. I daresay, the only ones able to get more than a two-word conversation out of her are the Ravenclaw students. She highly respects intelligence, but I'm afraid she doesn't warm up to others very well." _Great,_ thought Harry.

"Well, she probably won't help us if we just go barging into her Common Room then." Ron mused.

"Uh, Sir Nicholas," said Hermione, putting on a slightly flattering tone, "Do you think you could go in and try to get her to come and see us? If anyone can convince her, I just know it would be you!"

"Young lady," said Nick, popping the hat off his head (and taking most of his head with it), "Flattery will get you everywhere. One moment!" And he disappeared through the wall. The three of them shifted uneasily, waiting for the Grey Lady to return.

"Think she'll end up helping us?" Ron asked, playing with a hole in his shirt.

"Maybe," said Harry, "If we give her the right persuasion."

With the sound of wind whistling through tree branches, Nearly-Headless Nick returned. With him, floating regally, was the Grey Lady. Harry had never truly seen her up close before, and had to admit that she was easily the most beautiful ghost he had ever seen. She had long, silvery-white hair, and a flowing dress with a high collar that, sadly, did not completely do the job of covering up the ghostly rope burns on her neck. _She must've hung herself_ thought Harry. _How awful_. Her eyes were wide, penetrating, and unblinking. Harry saw her haughty gaze fall on Nick, who turned to the trio.

"Harry, Ron, Hermione, the Grey Lady has agreed to help, if you meet her expectations." Harry gulped.

"What sort of expectations?" Harry asked, Nick simply shrugged and glanced at the Lady in question. Apparently, the Grey Lady held her cards very close to the vest indeed.

"We have no choice, then," said Harry, sighing. "Tell her we will do whatever she wants."

Harry felt The Lady's shimmering eyes fall upon him, and looking into her eyes, he heard a soft voice inside his head.

"_What do you seek? There is no need to answer with anything except your mind."_ Her voice was strong, but with a light sweetness that made Harry think of the wind flowing over open meadows in the springtime.

"_I'm here to find a relic of Ravenclaw. One that the Dark Lord Voldemort has used to create a Horcrux."_

"_I see,"_ she responded. Harry tried not to blink as her penetrating eyes searched deep inside him. The Grey Lady smiled. _"You have valor, young man. And a mind…unsuited to any house other than my own. Continue to learn; one day you shall be worthy."_

Harry cast his eyes away. He didn't like being told he wasn't smart enough to complete something. He watched as the Grey Lady floated to a stop in front of Ron. She looked into his eyes. And then, she began to laugh, a light, tinkling laugh. Ron looked even more miffed than Harry.

"Rubbish," he muttered. "She just told me to keep practicing at chess." Harry grinned. That made him feel a bit better. _Maybe Hermione will have better luck._

The ghost stopped a third time in front of Hermione, and Harry's jaw dropped. The Grey Lady hung in the air, still, as if frozen. And then, she blinked. It was the first time she had done so. She did it again, as if trying to see Hermione clearly. Hermione had not blinked once since the Grey Lady had approached her, and was now smiling.

"I will help you," she finally said. "If, Hermione, you will come and talk to me once a week. In all my years, I've never met a mind equal to mine."

"Thank you," said Hermione, blushing. Then, the Grey Lady leaned in close to Hermione's ear. The whispering wind was all that Harry heard, but Hermione frowned, concentrating. Then she smiled, whispered, "I won't," and thanked her again. The Grey Lady took one more moment in front of Hermione before disappearing back the way she came.

"We need to get to the Library," whispered Hermione.

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"What the hell was THAT?" Ron demanded as the three of them shuffled into the library, careful to avoid Madame Pince, who, it seemed, never left her post as librarian.

"Well, she does like her secrets," said Hermione, grinning slyly. "She told me that what we seek is in the castle, but she wouldn't tell me where. She would only give me a clue." With a flick of her wand, Hermione magicked a piece of parchment and a quill into her hand. "And this is what she said."

One for anger

Two for mirth

Three for a wedding

Four for a birth

Five for rich

Six for poor

Seven for a witch

I can tell you no more.

"How can you remember all of that, Hermione?" said Ron. "I would've been lost after the second line, and she only said it to you once.

"I have a photographic memory," Hermione paused, taking in the confused looks on her friends' faces, "Total recall?" She asked, getting no response she explained, "Anything I see or hear I can usually remember almost perfectly." She smiled slowly, "It's a curse!"

"It's very pretty…and erm…it rhymes," said Harry, "but I'm afraid I don't see how this is going to help us."

"Me either, actually," said Hermione, frowning, "But I'm sure it's some sort of clue." She paused, looking from the paper to the boys and back. "We've got our first clue. We're on our way at least."

"Speaking of being on our way, Hermione, it's getting toward two in the afternoon; we should be heading back to my house, don't you think?" Ron gave her a significant glance.

"Well," said Hermione, "I do suppose it's getting a bit late." She pulled back her chair, carefully rolled up the parchment with the rhyme, and began to walk out of the library towards Professor McGonagall's Office Suddenly, Harry remembered Hermione's promise to the Grey Lady.

"Hermione, what did you mean when you said 'I won't' to the Grey Lady?" Hermione blushed and looked down at her feet.

"She told me I had a great gift, but not to keep it to myself. I promised her I wouldn't live the life she had."

"What life would that be?" said Harry.

"A life spent alone."

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By the time Harry, Ron, and Hermione made it back to the Burrow, the sun had sunk low in the western sky, coloring the few clouds above them gold and pink. Hermione was walking slightly behind Harry and Ron, softly repeating the rhyme in her head.

"Hermione," said Ron, turning to face her, "If you repeat that bloody rhyme once more, I'll never get it out of my head! I'll be laying on my death bed, muttering about witches, weddings, and mirth, whatever the hell THAT is."

"It means gladness, Ron. And I'm trying to think what the rhyme as a WHOLE could mean. It sounds like a nursery rhyme, but what could it represent? Could Ravenclaw's Horcrux be a book of poetry?"

"It wouldn't surprise me," said Harry reaching the door to the Burrow. "But then again, after almost seven years at a school for witchcraft and wizardry, I don't think there's much left that would surprise me-"

"SURPRISE!"

Harry was knocked backwards into Ron by the explosion of shouts that hit him as he opened the door, and had to squint to see into the house. The Weasley's front room had been decorated with bright streamers, and Fred and George's everlasting fireworks were streaking along the ceiling, occasionally colliding with an astounding BANG that shook the room and dazzled his eyes. He looked behind him, to see Ron and Hermione grinning broadly.

"Happy Birthday, Harry!" yelled Hermione over the noise of the shouting and fireworks.

"A bit late," added Ron, "But we thought better late than never!"

Harry felt a giant hand grab onto his shirt and pull him into the house, as he heard Hagrid shout over the crowd,

"Nuthin' would surprise 'im anymore, he says!" said Hagrid, and Harry had to admit he wasn't expecting this. The room was packed with the Weasleys, Hagrid (who took up an entire corner of the room by himself) Professors Lupin and Moody, and an enormous table laden with food and presents. Hagrid pulled him to the table and plopped him down at the head of it before everyone gathered around and jostled for seats.

It was a birthday as Harry had never experienced before. The dinner went on for what felt like hours, until he was so stuffed with roast beef and turkey and Cornish pasties that he was sure he would never move again. Then came the deserts, treacle tarts (his favorite), ice cream, cauldron cakes, mint humbugs, chocolate éclairs, rice pudding, and fresh from the oven strawberry tarts that smelled so delicious he forgot all about being full.

Apparently, the night they had spent telling stories around the fire had not tapped out the reservoir, and Lupin had the entire group in stitches about a birthday when Harry's father and Sirius had gotten him a nail clipper, scissors, and industrial strength mouthwash "To get rid of my dog breath once a month! The most useful presents I've ever gotten!"

"And speaking of presents!" Lupin added, opening up his satchel and removing a small parcel. Harry opened the wrapping, and uncovered an old leather-bound book, titled _So You've Gotten Yourself into a Duel_ by Atherton Wing.

"It's about time you began training in real dueling, not that" here Lupin cleared his throat and looked at all the adults, _"_formal rubbish that Lockhart tried to teach back in your second year. And don't worry about your Defense Against the Dark Arts books for the next term; they've been taken care of." Harry smiled and opened the book, meaning to flip through to find any helpful pictures. To his surprise, the outline of a man in a long coat sprang out of the book instead, brandishing his wand.

"Well, well, we certainly DO have our work cut out for us, don't we?" the little man said, pulling out his wand. "I can tell by the way you're holding your fork that you've been attacking from the shoulder for years! Yes, we should begin right away!"

"Not right now, Atherton!" said Lupin, snapping the book shut with a laugh. The ghostly Atherton wing vanished back into the book with a groan of frustration. "And I believe Professor Moody has something to go along with it." Harry looked with some trepidation towards Mad-Eye, who was awkwardly holding a lumpy package in his hands.

"You've been lucky, so far, boy. Whipping your wand out of your belt loop like that. You're lucky you haven't broken it in half, or hexed off your own backside." He handed Harry the parcel, who opened it to find a beautifully polished black leather holster. "I imagine you'll be doing a lot of quick-drawing practice with that book of Lupin's. This should help. CONSTANT VIGILINCE, Harry!" The room was slightly subdued after Moody's outburst. Then, with the grace of a falling rock, Hagrid broke the silence with a loud cough that caused the entire crowd to jump with surprise.

"I got summat for ya too, Harry. Been working on it meself, all summer!" He blushed, and hastily fumbled around in his overcoat. Harry gulped again. _Please God, don't let it be a screwt or a rock-cake_. But to his surprise, Hagrid pulled out a soft brown shirt.

"Now it may seem soft to you, but that shirt there is made outta ground up dragon scales. Toughest material out there. I reckon anybody trying to get at you is gonna have a time of it, long as you're wearing that."

"And in the height of fashion, too!" said George, rising to his feet.

"Spiffingly dandy!" agreed Fred.

"But all this defense rubbish!" said George. "This isn't what a birthday should be! Where's the fun? Where's the present he'll really be treasuring in his lonely later years?" George paused and looked around erratically, "Erm, actually, where did it go?"

"Right here, George, old son!" said Fred. He fished his hand into his pocket and pulled out…_Glasses?_

"Specially made with your prescription, Harry. Try 'em on."

"…Um, not to be rude, but why?" said Harry, not reaching out to take the glasses from Fred's hand.

"Harry, would we do something dastardly on your birthday?" said Fred, looking aghast, and not noticing George nodding vigorously behind him. Fred sighed before continuing, "Well, we haven't. C'mon Harry, take a chance." Harry tentatively picked up the glasses, put them on, and gasped. Along the table were seven of the twin's invisibility hats, each holding bags full of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes Gifts and Gags For All Occasions. He took them off, and suddenly they disappeared again.

"What did you do to them?"

"Well, we got to thinking, what would a bloke in your circumstances need?"

"Advanced optometry!" said George triumphantly. "You needed eyes that could see the world around you as it really _is_! Sort of like Mad-Eye, 'cept without all the blood and gore involved in losing an actual eye."

"So, you have in your hands the First Official Weasley Spectromatic there, Harry! Invisibility detectors, Dark Detectors, and for an extra bonus, Occlumency Lenses set into the frame!"

"Occlumency Lenses?" said Harry, amazed at the twin's talent and creativity.

"Blocks anyone trying to break into your mind, as long as you're wearing them. You know, just in case a git like Snape ever tried to read you again. His brain would be running into a brick wall at full speed." Harry was stunned.

"Wicked, guys! These are brilliant! Thanks."

"And quite fashionable as well, I might add!" said Hermione. "Much better than your old glasses."

"Why, thank you Hermione!" said Harry, pretending to model them for her. "And what did you get me?" Hermione grinned, and pulled from her backpack a thick book, bound in green. Harry grinned. He should've known it was a book. "A nice copy of _Hogwarts: A History_?" said Harry.

"As much as I'd like you to read it, no!" laughed Hermione. "This book is far more rare. Here, give me your hand, Harry." She blushed slightly as he took her hand in his.

"Now place it on the cover." Harry put his hand palm down on the front of the book, and gasped as white writing began to scroll across the top. "_A History of the family Potter by Adams Pliny."_

"The Plinys live in Hogsmeade, and have records of every magical family, dating back for centuries. The book has read your palm and from now on, you're the only one who can open it"

"Why shouldn't anyone else be able to read my family's history?" said Harry.

"They should, of course, but the history isn't the only thing in this book. You may have noticed there are a few pages left empty in the back." Harry flipped to the end of the book. "These are for your history, Harry. The book has been written up until now. Every time you put your hand on the book, it will record more of your story, including the things you might want to keep to yourself." Harry was astounded.

"Amazing. Thanks, Hermione." She blushed again and shrugged.

"Everyone should know their history."

"And everyone should know the daring exploits of Harry Potter!" said Ron with a flourish. Harry laughed, knowing Ron was building this up. "Now, Harry, you're well on your way to being the next Agrippa, the next Merlin, who knows, maybe even the next Dumbledore! But there is something that you lack that all these other wizards have. Is it strength of character? Courage? How about 'Strong Moral Fiber'?" Ron grinned. "No! What they all have, Harry, is this!" Ron handed Harry a box. He opened it, and pulled out a Chocolate Frog.

"They all had candy?" he said. Ron groaned.

"Look IN the box, you prat!" Harry upturned the box in his hand, and out fell a Great Wizards card. Harry was stunned to see his own face, grinning up from the card. "Now you have joined the ranks of the immortals! Bear it well, Harry!" said Ron, slapping Harry on the back.

"I can't wait to see what you thought my greatest achievements were!" laughed Harry. "Thanks, Ron."

"Well, I think that's all of your presents," said Mrs. Weasley. "Why doesn't everyone have one more round of desert, and then we'll head off to bed?"

The party around Harry picked up again, but Mrs. Weasley subtly drew him a far corner.

"Arthur and I wanted you to have something, but thought you'd want it in private. Ginny had gotten you a gift, before the day of the wedding." Mrs. Weasley's eyes became firm. "I…I want you to have it. To remember her."

"I don't think I could forget her Mrs. Weasley, but, yeah, definitely, I'd like to have it," said Harry. Mrs. Weasley pulled out a small box, about the size of a fist. Harry thought wildly for a second that Ginny had bought him a ring for his birthday. But when he opened he found…

"A Snitch?"

"Not just any Snitch, Harry. This was the Snitch she caught the day you first kiss—well, the day you two became a couple. She thought it would be a good memento. And I thought you might like it."

"I do," said Harry, and it was true. Even though it hurt knowing just what the Golden Snitch he held in his hands meant to both he and Ginny, he was glad to have it, and glad that Mrs. Weasley had decided to give it to him. "I'll treasure it. Always." Mrs. Weasley smiled and wrapped her arms around Harry in a bone-squeezing hug.

"Happy birthday, dear. And may next year's be under very different circumstances."

"I'll drink to that!" said Harry, letting go of Mrs. Weasley and moving back to the table, picking up a goblet. "To next year!" he shouted to the crowd around him. "May it be even better than the year before!" Everyone raised their cups in heartfelt agreement.

"To next—"

The toast was interrupted by a frantic banging on the door. Everyone turned wondering who it could be. There was a pause, and then the banging started up again. And this time is did not abate, but continued in a cacophonous pounding, increasing in intensity and frequency. Slowly, Moody walked towards the door, wand raised. His magical eye rolled forward, and Harry knew it was seeing through the door, and Moody growled.

"I don't believe it!" he said, wrenching the door opened. The person who had been banging on the door did not realize for a moment that there was no more door to bang on, and swung once more with his fist, hitting nothing but air. He overbalanced, and fell unceremoniously to the floor. Moody was livid, and grabbed the figure by the cloak, dragging him into the light of the roaring fire in the main room.

It was Draco Malfoy.

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Next chapter up soon!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Guess who's NOT J.K. Rowling?

A huge shout out to Ms. Monica, who deserves to edit everything!

Harry Potter and the Marauder's Vendetta

Chapter 7: Draco Dormiens

"Give him space! Give him space!"

"How did he find us?"

"Is he alive?"

"If so, we can fix that…"

"George!"

Draco Malfoy's head throbbed like it been clamped in a vice for several hours. The snatches of conversation above him heralded his success, and one simple thought made it through the pain, _I've made it._ This success, however, did not fill him with any joy. _I've made it to the Weasley's._ Slowly, fighting the pain attempting to drag him down into darkness, Draco lifted his head and forced his eyes open.

"STUPEFY!"

Harry had been watching Malfoy's twitching head for the past minute, and as soon as he saw the whites of his eyes, took him out. With a very satisfying CLUNK, his head dropped back down to the hearthstone, and brought silence back to the astounded members of the now-ruined party.

"That should put him out for a while," said Harry, nevertheless keeping his wand trained on Malfoy's pale blonde hair. "In the meantime, what do we do?"

"Do?" shouted George, looking bewildered. "Last I knew, his father murdered Ginny! I say we give back what they gave to us!"

"You will NOT!" shouted back Mrs. Weasley, "There will be no talk of such rubbish in my house! Killing people! In the name of Merlin, if I ever hear you say such a thing EVER again, George!"

"Well, what should we do then, give him tea and crumpets?" said Fred standing up by his twin. "Does anyone realize that a MALFOY just barged through our front door? We don't know why he's here! He could be spying on us, or a Death Eater in disguise! We don't know anything-"

"Precisely!" said Lupin, holding up his hands for calm. "We _don't_ know. Moody-" the ex-Auror, who had been running his magical eye over Malfoy's fallen body suddenly stood at attention. "Would you happen to have any Veritaserum with you tonight?"

"Afraid not. But I've got some in my trunk at home. Give me five minutes." With that, Moody thumped his way outside, and with a small _pop_, was gone.

A resounding silence filled the room after Moody's departure. Harry's mind was spinning. It made no sense, Draco Malfoy appearing out of nowhere late one night. _Why was he here? Was he in trouble?_ _Doubtful_, Harry thought. If he were, the Weasley House would be the absolute last place on his list to show up; which made Harry believe he had been sent. _But for what reason?_ With a start, Harry leapt to Malfoy's side and began scanning every inch of him with his enchanted glasses. Hermione, quick to understand, and Ron, quick to follow, were at Harry's side momentarily.

"Anything?" said Hermione.

"Doesn't look like it," said Harry. "Not unless he brought something in under his clothes."

"Do you mean we should…" said Ron, looking disgusted.

"It's the only way to be sure." Harry answered. One look was enough to let Ron know that Harry wasn't looking forward to this either. But with firm resolve, they began to remove Malfoy's clothing.

"This could've been avoided if you'd put X-Ray vision in these glasses too," said Harry, glancing at the twins.

"Believe me, we thought of it. But we figured you'll be getting in enough trouble at school next year without people trying to steal your glasses and sneaking up to the wall of the girl's shower room…"

"I doubt you'd be able to see anything anyway," said Ron. "This boy is so pasty, the glare off of him would probably make you go blind…Blimey!"

Ron had just removed Malfoy's left arm from its sleeve, and then dropped it with an unceremonious _thump._ There, staring back at Harry was the dark Mark. It looked burned and raw around the edges, as though recently applied.

"I told you!" said Harry triumphantly. "I told you he had the Dark Mark!"

"Oh, Harry, you thought he had gotten it ages ago. The brand looks fresh on him!" Hermione said, defensively.

"I hope it still hurts." Ron muttered. "A lot." Mrs. Weasley was now bending over the children as well.

"Oh my goodness! He looks terrible!" Said Mrs. Weasley.

"Not any worse than he usually does," smirked George. "Mind you, since he normally looks like an oversized ferret…"

"NO!" Exclaimed Mrs. Weasley. "He's been through the wringer! It's more than just the burn on his arm. Look! He's got bruises on his face! And here on his chest! Oh, dear."

"He's been in a few fights since the end of term?" said Harry, surprised by this revelation, though hardly moved.

"I don't think so," replied Hermione. "He's also got some cuts on his arm. They look like he was shielding himself. And…oh my…Lumos!"

The light from Hermione's wand pierced the darkness, and allowed Harry to see, immediately, what had distressed her. On Draco's wrists were bruises. But these ones didn't look like they were gained in defense. These bruises were thick, purple, and symmetrical. Harry could see they run the entire length of his wrists.

"He's been shackled." Hermione breathed.

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Moody arrived five minutes later, toting a length of rope and a large bottle of clear liquid, which Harry assumed was Veritaserum.

"Unbreakable cords," said Moody, holding up his rope. "Should keep the little bugger right where we want him…what?" Mrs. Weasley was giving Moody a look of mingled dread and discomfort.

"Alastor, we shouldn't tie him up. Not again. Look." Moody clunked over to Malfoy's unconscious form, and looked over the bruises.

"Well then, he should be used to being restrained," he said, after a moment's pause. Mrs. Weasley looked ready to slap him.

"How can you be so cold?" Hermione said, looking shocked. "Don't you see what he's been through?"

"What I _see_," said Moody, just as icily, "Is an enemy combatant. Now let's look at the facts, Hermione. One: He has no business being here. Two: We don't know why he's here. Three: This piece of tripe was the one who was supposed to kill Dumbledore last year, and just because he couldn't do it then doesn't mean he hasn't warmed up to the idea of killing! So I see why we shouldn't err on the side of caution. We've had enough death in this house already."

Mrs. Weasley flinched at this, but Harry saw his point. Draco had opened the school up to the Death Eaters, poisoned Ron, and had tried to make Harry's life as miserable as possible since they had both arrived at Hogwarts. _Why should we feel guilty about tying him up?_ But as much as Harry tried to rationalize it, he still felt like he was doing the wrong thing. _But sometimes, wrong is necessary._ Without a word, he took one end of Moody's rope, and bound Draco's hands. Then, trailing the rope down to his feet, bound them as well.

"It's not because he deserves it," said Harry, as much to himself as to everyone else. Ron nodded, Moody merely grunted, but Hermione was still looking uncomfortable. Moody propped Draco's mouth open.

"For me, it's because he deserves it. ENNERVATE" Malfoy's eyes shot open, looking afraid, and he gasped as if someone had splashed icy water on his face. Moody growled in exertion and pinched Malfoy's nostrils shut, causing him to swallow the Veritaserum that was being poured down his throat. Draco coughed, sputtered, and then lay very still, as the potent potion began to take effect.

"Where do we start?" said Ron, looking nervous.

"Dunno," said Harry, also looking slightly wary. "It's my first interrogation."

"I suppose," said Hermione. "Well, we don't even know if this is Draco." Then, in a loud clear voice, she said, "What is your name?" Draco stayed eerily still as his mouth opened to answer the question.

"Draco Malfoy."

"Well, that answers that," she said, grinning self-consciously. "Now what?"

"Now what!" Harry couldn't believe it. "We have a Death Eater who just happened to deliver himself to our front door, and you have to ask 'Now What?'" He was starting to feel irritated with Hermione, especially after she seemed to be feeling something very closely resembling pity for the villain before her.

"Alright," replied Hermione coldly, "You take over then, Harry." Moody stepped between the two of them.

"I think I'll take over, if you two don't mind." Both his real and magical eye rolled to the ceiling at the pair of bitter glares he received.

"Draco, how long have you been a Death Eater?"

"Over a year," said Draco. Harry felt a twinge of hate. _Even while under Veritaserum, he's still got the sneer in his voice!_

"Then why does the Dark Mark look new on your arm?" said Harry, before Moody could continue. Hermione put a hand restrainedly on his arm, pulling him back, and whispered,

"Let someone with experience do this." Harry glared at her, and pulled his arm back.

"Stay out of this." He said. She glared at him, and Harry saw Ron mouth "What's wrong with you?" but Draco interrupted their response.

"The Dark Mark burns itself anew whenever the Dark lord calls us. He called us for the attack on the Weasley's Wedding." Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shifted closer together at the mention of the wedding, his arm slipping around her waist.

"Were you at the wedding when the Death Eaters attacked?" asked Moody, the growl in his voice pronounced.

"No."

"Draco, why are you here tonight?" There was a pause, almost as if Draco were fighting against the emotions the truth seemed to be conjuring up.

"I had nowhere else to go."

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Assigning the title of "Manor" to the residence of the Malfoy family was the understatement of the decade. The sprawling estate had been built on the remains of the castle, which had belonged to a Malfoy as long as anyone could remember, and still retained the elegance of royalty. Turrets lined the top of the main building, with numerous towers and spires to accompany them. The bedroom of Draco Malfoy was in the west-most of these towers, and had windows that overlooked a large lake which marked the end of their family's property. For years, this room had been Draco's refuge. It was smaller than the room his mother had offered him on the first floor, but he didn't mind. The first floor was a tribute to the opulence of the Malfoy Family, and was practically a museum. Glass cases protected valuable antiques, antiques that had a special place in Draco's heart, because these antiques had been the basis of his first lesson: Don't Touch. In truth, Draco hated the first level of the manor, with its floors so wide and expansive that you could hear your footsteps echo back a full 15 seconds after treading your feet.

In his room, Draco had a small collection of mementos: A small golden dragon, given to him by his Aunt Bellatrix when he was born; a full-length mirror and expensive wardrobe; and in a place of honor, his Nimbus Two Thousand and One. The broom still looked in mint condition, due to the fact that Draco spent much of his time alone in his room, polishing the handle and clipping the twigs as they fell apart. Draco had always spent much of his time up in his room, as rule number two in his life had been "Don't Interrupt!" Lucius Malfoy had always been popular in Draco's mind. The finest folk always valued his father's advice, his strategic brilliance. And his money. At a young age, Draco had learned the power of a well-directed galleon.

"Your friends may deceive you," said Lucius at his son's bedside, "But money cannot lie."

Lucius used to spend many nights up by his son's bed, giving him advice, telling him stories of his family and the wizards who came before him; stories that always concluded with the same important moral: Purity. Purity of family and of soul was the only real currency. Your first duty was to your family. Failing them meant you had more than shamed yourself; you had shamed the entire clan. The other families, the Half-Bloods and the Mudbloods had frittered away their honor, or never had any to begin with. They were subordinate, primeval, inhuman, and unclean in the eyes of those lucky enough to have maintained their purity of family.

At his father's side, Draco happily learned to hate.

But in the past few years, Draco's father had almost never come up to see his son anymore, and Draco had come to dread the visits. When he was accepted to into Hogwarts, his father was ecstatic, buying him so many presents that his room became cramped. When he heard that Draco had been chosen to be in Slytherin, Lucius sent him a ring, with a band shaped like a writhing serpent. However, when Lucius received his son's grades, he took them all back.

"Not only did you fail to receive top marks in your own _class_," said Lucius, ripping the ring off his son's finger, leaving it swollen and sore, "But you even allowed a filthy Mudblood to beat you!"

Draco bent his head, ashamed for the dishonor and embarrassment he had brought upon his father, and upon his family. Later, his mother had bought him a large pile of Honeydukes sweets to make him feel better. Draco had long ago learned that his mother would have given him a room made of gold if he had been unhappy with the one of stone, and often used it for his own benefit; this time, he was just happy she was trying to cheer him up.

The abuse only worsened as Draco's years at Hogwarts drew out. The first time his father hit him, it was because Draco had forced him to pay off and intimidate numerous members of the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures; all so he could have Buckbeak executed.

"And after all that, all the Galleons I spent, you let it fly off, right in front of your very nose!" Lucius spat in his son's face. He was so angry, he had actually broken Draco's Hand of Glory. Draco sulked, complaining that it wasn't his fault; that Dumbledore had taken Hagrid's side, and that no one knew how the beast had gotten away. At this, Lucius had hit his son across the face.

"There are no excuses for your ignorance. I've never been so disappointed in a member of my own family. You deserve to be chucked out like a House-Elf, forced to live among the Muggles."

Lucius's bad humor did not improve during Draco's fourth year, as sign of Voldemort's return began to surface.

"But we want the Dark Lord to return, Father," said Draco over Christmas holidays.

"We want him to return, do we?" snapped Lucius. Oh, yes, of _course_ we do. And won't he be happy to see our family, too? Living among his enemies; sullying ourselves among the common rabble; and did you know that Harry Potter destroyed a relic of the Dark Lord's back in your second year? He had entrusted the relic to _me_, Draco! Yes, The Dark Lord will be _thrilled._ Do us all a favor, and try not to explain things to me! It makes me realize what an imbecile I've allowed into my bloodline."

In Draco's fifth year, his father began to allow him into the inner circle of the Death Eaters more and more, especially following his forgiveness at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Although he was unaware of the Death Eater's plan to steal the prophecy, he knew that his father was planning something, and did his best to keep Harry Potter and his meddling friends out of the way. His crowning glory that year was when he was actually able to catch Harry Potter coming out the Room of Requirement, not only because of the trouble it caused for him, but also because it allowed Draco to discover a room that could be used as anything, even a hiding place for a secret weapon against the enemies of his family.

And so he used it during his sixth year, which was easily the hardest year Draco had ever spent. It began with his marking as a Death Eater at the feet of Lord Voldemort. He had been summoned by his mother late one night, asking if he was prepared to take his father's place in the fight against the impure. Something in Narcissa's voice made him think she partially wanted him to say no, to save himself the anguish that her husband's capture had brought upon her. But Draco knew in his heart that this was the course he must take; the course his father had set for him since birth. And he knew what would happen if he said no.

Draco's mother brought him into a darkened room in the basement of the old Riddle house, cloaked in black and wearing his father's mask. Life had become miserable for Draco since his father had been imprisoned after the fiasco in the Department of Mysteries last year, and he was itching to prove his family was still useful to Lord Voldemort. He had never actually seen the Dark Lord before that night, and nearly lost his will at first sight. The hideous, sneering, snakelike visage made Draco feel sick to his stomach, but he pushed it back, willing himself to kneel before his master.

"I prostrate myself before you," Draco said in a loud clear voice. "My life, my blood, my soul for you, My Dark Lord." Lord Voldemort smiled, pleased.

"Your father taught you many things. I hope he did not teach you failure. You have arrived at the most opportune time, young Draco. You shall take your father's place and more. Are you prepared to do anything your master commands?"

"Anything, My Lord."

"Good. Then you have much to do."

Draco regularly smirking face lost all of its remaining color and humor when he heard what he was to do. Voldemort wanted Dumbledore dead. He wanted entrance to the school. But the how was left up to Draco, and the punishment for failure was death. Not just for himself, but for the rest of his family. He would succeed.

He had to succeed.

But he had not succeeded. He had failed, and was only saved by Professor Snape's timely intervention. He had been given the opportunity, but could not bring himself to kill. And from that moment on, even though he bore the mark of a Death Eater, he was not one of them. He had been found unworthy of the title, because he could not kill.

But his father could.

He had killed two Aurors during his escape from Azkaban over the summer. And with his bare hands, no less. This was a feat Draco could not hope to accomplish, and his father knew it. Lucius Malfoy joined his family in hiding after his escape, and quickly learned of his son's failure.

"Snape had to kill him! Do you know how many times I have dreamed of being face to face with Dumbledore, nothing standing between us but my wand, and you couldn't kill the old bastard!" Draco didn't remember much else after that. His father had begun hitting him, and didn't stop. He remembered waking up, and reaching to wipe the blood out of his mouth, but instead found both his arms chained together and to the floor. He heard his father's voice outside the door of the small, dark room where he was.

"I can't trust you anymore, Draco. You failed us. You failed me. You failed your mother. You failed your family and your blood. Such a disgrace can never be erased."

"Father…"

"No, Draco. You are not my son. Not anymore."

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"…I heard about the Weasley girl's death from him later that month. He was bragging to one of his friends, about how easy the kill was, about how even with 200 people, there were so few who were willing to stay and fight when the Death Eaters arrived. How Harry Potter was right there, and had to watch his little girlfriend fall. He told me that I was a coward, and that I would have died if I had tried to accomplish what they had done that day. A few hours later, I woke up to find my manacles off, and heard my mother's voice. She was telling me to run, run far away, where my father couldn't find me. I was in danger, she said. I thought of places where the Dark Side wouldn't look for me. And so I headed for the Weasley's, knowing that would be the last place they would ever look. I've been traveling ever since, and now I'm here."

There was silence at the end of Draco's story. Harry looked around at Ron and Hermione Both looked troubled, and Hermione still looked bitter towards him. Tears were glistening in Mrs. Weasley's eyes. Lupin looked sickened by the way the young man had been treated by his own father. Moody, however, was passive.

"Quite a little story," he growled, looking around the room. "If it's true, that is."

"He told us all of this under Veritaserum," said Hermione. "Of course it's true!"

"It's what he thinks is true; that and the truth can often be very different things. We should summon the Aurors right now, and have him taken in."

"Taken where?" said Mrs. Weasley. "If what he says is true, he's not safe! His father is out of Azkaban, and he'll be on the lookout for him. If he hears the Ministry has him, then he'll find Draco, and kill him! Or do you want him put in Azkaban, which is leaking like a sieve, and full of people who want him dead?" Mr. Weasley put an arm protectively around his wife's shoulders, pulling her a bit away from the group, attempting to calm her.

"But there's nothing else we can do, Molly."

"We can keep him here, keep him safe." Said Mrs. Weasley.

Harry would've laughed, except he knew she was serious. _Keep Malfoy under the Weasley's roof? Never!_ Apparently, Moody wasn't as polite; he began to laugh, a sound much more frightening than his growl.

"Keep him in the house of several Order members, the house where Harry Potter is staying, where he can hear things that I'm sure would interest his Death Eater friends and allies! Why not just set up a bedroom in the meeting room?"

"We would take precautions," said Mrs. Weasley. "He could be kept in the attic, where there is no way to listen, and nothing that could clue him in on anything, except my old dress size. And, he deserves to be kept safe, after all that's happened to him."

"He doesn't deserve _anything_," said Harry. He couldn't believe that this was being taken seriously. "It doesn't matter that he didn't kill Dumbledore! He stood against everything that the school, that I, that we, stand for! There isn't a shred of good in him!" Hermione turned on Harry.

"We might be able to sway him, Harry. To nudge him in the right direction!"

"The right direction?" said Harry, stunned. _This was Draco Malfoy, not some learning impaired puppy._ "It's not like he got lost on the way to being a good person! He was never looking to _be_ a good person. He's nothing but a filthy… GOD! Are you really that stupid, Hermione? To think he'd change? You really think people like Draco change?" Hermione blanched at being called stupid, and Harry knew he had touched a nerve. But he was so angry, he didn't care.

"I have to believe it!" Hermione said, her voice rising. "I have to believe that we can change the minds and more importantly the hearts of those against us! If we only kill or imprison the people who disagree with us, how are we better than them? You just don't want him here because of what he's done to you! It's personal! Not logical!"

_I don't want him here because it will put you in danger!_ He thought. But Harry was vindictive now, surprised and hurt that he was finding himself fighting Hermione on this point.

"You and your logic can go to hell!" he spat, walking for the door. He felt his progress stopped by Hermione's hand. She tugged him backward, spun him around, and slapped him hard across the face. Harry was so shocked he froze.

"This isn't how your parents would've wanted you to treat your enemies," Hermione whispered, so that only he could hear her, begging him to understand with her eyes. But Harry was beyond logic. He touched his stinging cheek. All the hatred he felt towards Draco and his horrid and murderous family boiled up inside him and looked for the nearest target. It found Hermione.

"Don't you dare to presume what my parents would've wanted! They died fighting people like _him!_ How can you stand there defending him? If you do it with a clear conscience, you're no better than those who stand with him."

"I'm the one trying to think about this logically instead of emotionally!"

Harry had reached the end of his rope. He couldn't stand having this fight with Hermione, the one person who had stood by him, even as the rest of the world deserted him. The one who first told him he was a great wizard, and through the years had made him believe it. _This fight has to end, no matter what,_ he thought.

"Always logic, Hermione. Books and cleverness; but not an ounce of sense, you robot! You bookworm!"

The room froze. Ron looked horrified and ready to beat the living tar out of Harry. Lupin had begun to reach for Harry, but withdrew at those words, as if he had been stung.

Hermione was staring right at Harry. She looked in his eyes with tears brimming at the sides of hers, and he felt hot guilt wash over his face. But he wouldn't let her have the last word so he set his face in stone and turned away, striding out of the room. The last thing he heard was the door slamming from behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do this only for fun. And thanks to My own personal Buddha with a pony and a plastic rocket, My editor, M. You are awesome!

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Harry Potter and the Marauder's Vendetta

Chapter 8: Vows and Promises

Hermione didn't remember walking out of the room after Harry's outburst; the world had become enshrouded in fog, and all she knew was she had to get out -to get away- before she lost control of her emotions. She didn't feel it as she stumbled up the stairs, she didn't hear the whispered shock emanating from the kitchen. She didn't even feel the strong hand, taking her arm, leading her up the stairway to the Twin's room. But when she looked up, she saw it was Ron. One look into his eyes let Hermione know it was a good thing he had gone with her instead of Harry; he looked ready to rip someone's head off, and Hermione knew who he would be aiming for. Hermione put a hand on Ron's arm; it was like turning on a faucet.

"That git! He had no right! How could he? After all we've done! After all YOU'VE done in the past seven years…I'll kill him! I'm going to go out, find him, and shove that wand right up his…"

"No."

Ron turned, surprised. "Erm, Hermione, did you hear what he jus said to you? Give me one good reason not to!"

"Because he's your best friend." Said Hermione, softly. Ron looked bewildered.

"But so are you." Ron paused, looking closely at Hermione. "How can you be taking it so calmly? Doesn't it make you–"

"Of course it makes me angry, Ron! But I won't get angry. I won't get angry over Malfoy, I won't get angry over such a stupid fight, I won't allow anyone to think Malfoy could come between us! I won't…I won't…"

Hermione could hold back no longer and felt her walls breaking down. Harry didn't know the full effect of what he said, but it was worse than if he had hit her. She felt the tears come even though she fought hard against them, as she usually did. She felt ashamed that she couldn't hold them back. Ron tried to put his arm around her, but she shrunk away.

"It'll be better…in…in a minute, Ron." And soon, her tears began to slow down, and she looked up at him again.

"Thanks for coming up here with me. I know I must be poor company right now."

"Doesn't matter," said Ron, loyally. "I wouldn't care if you were throwing things at me right now. You need someone to be with you. I'm it."

"Oh, Ron!" said Hermione, throwing her arms around him. Ron folded her into his arms without a thought. A year ago, he might have been terrified, but something had happened the day Dumbledore was buried. He had held Hermione close during the funeral, fighting his sorrow and grief, sorting out his own inner feelings to distract himself from the pain. He had known for awhile that he loved Hermione, but he couldn't figure out whether or not he was in love with her.

That day, as he held her close, he felt his love for her cement itself in his chest. Not in a physical way as he had always suspected it would, especially based on their near kiss in Ginny's room just a few days earlier, but in a fraternal and familial way. Hermione had been considered a member of his family for years now, but at that moment, in his heart, she truly became a Weasley, a second sister in a family of boys. And he would give his life to protect her. But he knew, at that moment, he was not in love with her and probably never would be. He held her as close as he could, but felt no passion, only a deep and abiding love.

"It's alright," said Ron. "It's alright. I'm here, Hermione."

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The stars blurred in the sky as Harry ran out the door, letting his feet carry him past the hedges, over the fence, and into the forest. He had walked this path out to Ginny's grave every night since the funeral. He came to sit, to be away from everyone else, but also to make a silent promise, repeated every night.

"The ones who did this to you will pay."

He had repeated it so many times as a way to fill the hole left by Ginny's death. He couldn't have her smile beaming up at him, her laugh filling his ears, her hand in his, and so he filled that hole with hatred and vengeance. He had muttered his vow like a mantra, until he was sure he had strengthened his resolve. He would punish those responsible, and he would show no mercy. And when Hermione had argued against this line of reckoning, argued for mercy and understanding, it was more than a rebuttal; it was a betrayal. The person who had always been there with him, who had supported him in every decision even if she disagreed with it, had betrayed him. And so the hate he had been sitting on since Ginny's death had exploded out of him.

But now, so near Ginny's grave, picturing her reaction to his angry outburst Harry wasn't sure if he had run because he was angry, or if he had run because he was afraid Hermione was right.

The dark graveyard was illuminated only by the milky reflection of Ginny's gravestone. Harry knelt by the stone, and pressed his fingers to the cold marble. He felt his creed forming on his lips, soothing his tortured mind. Everything was easier when people were only right and only wrong.

"The ones who did this to you will pay."

"And what about the ones who didn't?" Harry's eyes sprang open. He saw Remus Lupin, leaning against a tree, looking at Harry with sympathy, but speaking with a voice as sharp as a knife. "What about the people who tried to stop it; the people who have given everything they had in order to keep you safe. The ones who went with you to the Department of Mysteries, even though it seemed hopeless, even though they were facing unknown horrors, even though they could have died. Will you make them pay for your pain too, Harry?"

Harry stared at the ground.

"What do you want from me, Professor? I do what must be done. I only said what everyone else was thinking. If I'm the only one willing to tell the truth around here, why should I care if a few toes are stepped on?"

"Because she is right and you are wrong," said Lupin shortly.

Harry didn't look up. Hermione had saved the Sorcerer's Stone with him. She had discovered the deadly monster hidden in the Chamber of Secrets, battled Death Eaters, marauding beasts, Inquisitorial Squads, and the Ministry of Magic. And he had swatted her down for making sense. It was so easy to hate, to see every argument in black and white. But she was right. This battle might be good against evil with lines drawn, but it was not black and white, there were shades of gray in amongst the good as well as the evil. It was a battle against the inner demons as much as the outer ones. _And if I can't defeat my own demons, how can I ever hope to defeat Voldemort?_

"I know she is," said Harry, weakly. Lupin squeezed his shoulder.

"I'm not the one who has to hear it. It's easy to apologize to the ground, or to me. But you need to apologize to her, Harry."

"I know," said Harry. "I will. I have to. I need her by my side and that means that I will do anything to make this right."

"I had no doubt you would," said Lupin with a grin. "I was just wondering when."

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Ron was standing in front of the Twin's door when Harry reached the last stair, his strong Keeper arms folded, anger and disappointment radiating off him, looking for all the world like the gargoyle that guarded the door to Dumbledore's office. Harry made sure to stop a good arm's length away from Ron and waited, clearing his throat anxiously. When Ron made no move to even recognize his presence he decided to dive right in.

"Can I go in there?"

"That depends," said Ron, standing as firm as Gibraltar. "Do you still have your head crammed up your arse?"

Harry grinned; Ron did not.

"No. With Lupin's help and a crowbar,I worked it out of there." Ron was not amused. He stepped close, inches away from Harry, his eyes piercing into Harry's. Harry noticed his fists were clenched at his sides and he seemed to be physically shaking. Harry was pretty sure it was from holding back pummeling him. It was the first time Harry had actually seen Ron restrain himself from assaulting someone. He was impressed.

"Look, Harry. I'm your best friend. In the past seven years, you've become my brother; and there's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

"I know that," said Harry, seriously.

Ron took a step closer, his unblinking eyes boring into Harry's. "Good. Because if you ever…EVER…do something like that to Hermione again without provocation, I'll be forced to beat you within an inch of your life, and you will find that _very_ unpleasant. Understand?"

"Perfectly." Harry couldn't blame Ron for his anger, if the roles were reversed he was pretty sure he'd have beat Ron first and talked later.

"Good. Now go in there, and prove it to me."

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Hermione heard a knock at the door.

"Hermione? It's me, Harry."

The door swung open.

"I didn't say you could come in," said Hermione. She had her back toward the door, so that Harry couldn't see her face, just the back of her bushy hair.

"You didn't say I couldn't either," said Harry, with what he hoped was a head-turning amount of charm in his voice. Hermione didn't move. Harry sighed quietly. _Not my night._

"You can stop being manly and impulsive, Harry. What do you want?" Harry was still off his guard; Hermione would not turn to face him.

"Look, Hermione," Harry began, moving in front of her, but Hermione lowered her head, so he was still only treated to a view of her hair. "I just, well, you know how sometimes in a fight people say things that they don't mean to…"

"Harry, do you remember the first book you read?" Hermione asked cutting him off. Harry was taken aback by the question.

"Uh, no, to be honest. I remember a book report on _Paddington Bear _I did in the second grade. Most of the books in the house went to Dudley. Mind you, my Aunt and Uncle would've gotten more use out of them if they had used them as coasters…"

"I remember the first book I read on my own," said Hermione, stopping his nervous rambling. "I was a year old when I read _Goodnight Moon_ to myself. I read it so many times that I actually started singing it, like a lullaby."

Harry nodded; He remembered reading _Goodnight Moon_ when he was about 4 or 5. He was astounded that Hermione could read so early.

"My parents did all they could to get me to read more. They set up rewards for me, they gave me extra pocket money, as long as I spent it on books, and right after I was born we moved to a better house in a better school district so I could have access to better reading material in school. My parents did all that for me. And it worked, Harry. By the time I was four years old I had read and understood every word of _The Count of Monte Cristo_. By ten, I had finished not only the rest of Dumas, all of his _Musketeer_ novels. Later that year I fell in love with the Scarlet Pimpernel, and even a few of the books about Zorro. Pride and Prejudice made me cry when I was eleven."

"You're kidding," said Harry. "You read that at eleven?"

He saw Hermione give a weak smile under her tangle of hair. "Hopeless romantics always develop quickly."

"I'll say. You had a real thing for heroes," Harry whispered, silently hoping that Hermione wouldn't find out he had yet to read any of those books, although he had heard of quite a few of them being turned into movies.

"I did have a thing for heroes. And I still do, Harry. All those brave men and women fighting for what they believed to be right and true. They fought against unbeatable odds, out of impossibilities that would baffle any of us. And in the end, they got what they wanted, whether to save the world, rescue the damsel in distress, stand for their beliefs, or right the wrongs of others". Hermione paused and looked right into Harry's eyes. "You know, people always ask why I wasn't in Ravenclaw, and it was because of those books. I wanted to be brave, to be a Knight of the Round Table, or a Musketeer, or simply strong enough to stand up for myself. Anything to show that I could be as brave and as smart as my heroes. Do you know what I found, Harry?"

Harry shook his head.

Hermione dropped her head again, and Harry couldn't see her eyes anymore. "I found you. You made me a part of your adventures, and I'm still grateful for that, every day. But in you, I saw that those heroes could be realized in reality, not just in fiction. You, and Ron, risking your lives to save me that first year at Hogwarts, and you were only eleven years old!"

"That was nothing," said Harry, blushing. "Anyone would've–"

"Not anyone would have trusted me to help them save Sirius, or to go into the Department of Mysteries with you. But you did, Harry. You know tonight, when you threw 'books and cleverness' at me as a defect?"

"Yes, about that, I just wanted to say–"

"Hush. Do you remember when I had said that to you?" Harry felt his face heat again, remembering the compliment and Hermione's arms wrapped around him.

"I remember you were squeezing the air out of me at the time. But yes, right before I went after the Sorcerer's Stone."

"Do you remember what I said after that?"

Harry did. That moment had been ingrained into his memory so firmly, he was sure it would be there to his dying day.

"You said there were more important things. Like friendship. And bravery." He felt his eyes sting.

"I was so lucky to have had you there that night. Both you and Ron."

"I was lucky too," said Hermione. She finally lifted her head; Harry could see her eyes were sparkling. "I meant it. All the clever answers in all the books in all the world aren't worth a pile of apple peelings if you don't have friends, and the right kind of friends, too. I had all those fictional heroes in my head before I came to Hogwarts. I didn't have any real friends before you and Ron. And I found I wouldn't trade you two for a room full of King Arthur's."

She paused.

"So you can imagine how being called a bookworm and a robot by one of those most precious friends would make me feel?"

"I do," said Harry. "And Hermione, I'm so sorry. I've always counted you as my best friend, along with Ron. Tonight, I forgot that, because I'd let my heart fill up with all the things your heroes would've found reprehensible." Harry bent his knees a bit to meet her eye to eye and unconsciously his hands softly gripped her upper arms. "Can you forgive me?"

Hermione frowned. "I don't know, Harry." Harry felt his heart sink as his hands dropped from her arms. "You hurt me badly tonight. I don't know if you and I can be friends again so quickly."

Moments ticked by, Harry felt a lump in his throat rise, until it felt as if it were choking off his air supply. How stupid was it of him to have wasted a friendship on such pointless harshness? How could he have been such a fool? An idiot? A mean, bitter, heartless old…

"Alright, Harry," said Hermione with a grin, "Ask me now."

Harry recognized the joke almost immediately, but wanted to show her she was important and decided to work for it a little more. He got down on one knee, took Hermione's hand in his, and said (in his most heroic sounding voice),

"Fair lady, could you forgive this vicious cad for his malicious slight against your virtue?" Hermione shrieked with laughter, doubling over.

"You sounded just like Sir Cadogan!" she gasped.

Harry slumped down, feigning defeat. "I suppose that's a 'No', then."

"Oh, Harry, come here!" said Hermione bending down and helping Harry to his feet. He took her in his arms, holding her close. Hermione clasped her arms around his waist and Harry felt the world was right once again.

"But don't ever do it again." She said. Harry lowered his head and whispered in her ear.

"I promise."

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CLUMP CLUMP CLUMP

Draco began counting in his head. There would be five seconds of silence. 1…2…3…4…

CLUMP CLUMP CLUMP

_Five._ Draco sighed, folding his arms across his knees and letting his head fall down on them. "You know, Potter, if you're going to feel guilty about me being locked up in here, could you do it more quietly?"

The clumping outside stopped. Draco sighed happily.

"How did you know it was me?" Said Harry's voice.

"Because you're infuriating me and no one pisses me off like you,"

Draco saw the shadow of Harry's shoes stop in front of the door. He smiled.

"I really am so glad you all decided to give me such wonderful accommodations," he drawled. "Honestly, an attic full of moldy dresses? I've never known there was clothing with price tags below five Knuts. Very impressive. And did you know Mrs. Weasley was once a size seven? Years ago, obviously, but…"

"We could've handed you over to the Ministry," said Harry, sounding annoyed. "I'm sure they would be interested to talk about the mark on your arm. Of course, Scrimgouer might just curse you into oblivion before you had a chance to say anything in your defense, so I'd be careful what you wish for. Besides, at least we left you company."

"Ah yes, the ghoul," Draco murmured. "He and I were just playing a lovely game of 'Throw Coat Hangers at the Captive'. Can't thank you enough."

"Well, I wish I could say its only temporary, but no one really knows what to do with you now. You're too dangerous to let go, for both us and for yourself. But I have to say; no one really wants you here all that badly. So for right now, make yourself comfortable." Draco heard a sliver of regret and was surprised.

"Feeling sorry for me, Potter?" Draco said, quietly. "Well, don't. I've lived a better life than you could believe. I've had the best things life could offer, so a few more days in here will be no problem."

"I know," replied Harry. It was strange, having something close to an actual conversation with someone like Draco Malfoy. "We heard all about your better life under veritaserum. And it had to be really wonderful for you to want to come all the way here. And by the way, I don't feel sorry for you. You deserve this. And a lot more on top of it, believe me, but this is good to begin with." There was a quick pause. "I do sympathize with you though."

Draco looked up. "Why? Why would you of all people sympathize with me?"

The shadow outside the door was silent, immobile. Draco lazily began counting the seconds in his head. 1…2…3…4…

"Because…" _Five._ Predictable. "Because I was once locked up against my will, just like you are now. Only when it happened to me, it was my Aunt and Uncle, my family, and it was for ten years."

Draco stayed quiet. The shadow stood, and slowly, Draco heard the footsteps recede into the distance.

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Next Chapter is on its way!


	9. Chapter 9

Hey guys! Sorry about the delay. I had my relations come into town, and my writing took a little break too. Kudos to my editor, St. M. I'm already working on Ch. 10, so enjoy this one!

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Harry Potter and the Marauder's Vendetta

Chapter Nine: The Magpie Prophecy

Harry could hardly believe it when Mrs. Weasley told him it was time again to go to Diagon Alley; he thought this summer would never end. He had been rescued from the Dursley's, lost Ginny, found a Horcrux that would take them one more step closer to defeating Voldemort, and offered one of his worst enemies shelter in a house full of his nearest and dearest. Harry could hardly believe that so much had changed in one summer, but he knew it would be dwarfed in comparison to the problems ahead.

The most pressing problem involved Malfoy. He'd rather not admit it, but Harry was a bit worried about what they were going to do with the cold and drawling blonde. Harry had been only half-joking when he commented that it might be more dangerous to turn him over to the authorities than it would be to turn him over to the Death Eaters. However, Rufus Scrimgeour seemed driven to prove him right. The day before they would be going to pick up their school supplies, Harry was shocked to see a new list of restrictions being imposed by the Ministry of Magic on page one of _The Daily Prophet,_ along with a full-page notice regarding the "Wizard Security Directives." These precautions had Mrs. Weasley in a foul temper as she shoveled eggs onto the many plates on the table.

"'Directives,' indeed. They're just another way for the Ministry to gain power! Honestly, Rufus Scrimgeour won't be happy until he has his eyes in every one of our homes!"

Harry was scanning the new Directives:

_Anyone found conspiring against the Ministry would be sent to Azkaban. _

_Anyone found to be hurting the Ministry 'through malicious rumor-mongering' would be given a four month sentence, and would be put on a special list, indicating that these wizards were a danger to the 'safety and the status quo.'"_

"Who wrote these, anyway?" Harry asked, rolling up the paper. "It's all so vague. From the way it's written, you could be arrested just for criticizing the Ministry."

Hermione was scowling. "Of course it's written vaguely. That way, the Ministry can arrest anyone they want to, the only charge being that they were going against popular sentiment."

"I'm guessing that popular sentiment won't be that popular after they lock up everybody and their brother for thinking the Minister is a stupid git," said Ron, grinning.

"Careful, Ron, or I'll have to report you!" said Harry, grinning back. Mrs. Weasley scowled.

"It's all a load of rubbish! Well, they can't expect strong-arm tactics like this to work! The first person who comes to take me in for questioning is going to wish they'd never passed their Auror's Test!" Mrs. Weasley turned to viciously scrub the pots and pans in the sink.

"You tell 'em, Mum," said Ron before whispering to Harry, "Mind you, I'd be more afraid of getting on the wrong side of her than the wrong side of the Ministry. Mum's punishments last longer."

"This is a new low, even for them," said Harry. "But what are going to do with Draco now?" In the past few days, Harry had taken to pacing the hallway in front of the attic, now occasionally joined by Crookshanks, who would follow his path as he paced back and forth. Occasionally, he and Draco would speak briefly, and although he still thought him to be a total prat, Harry certainly didn't want to see him handed over to the authorities while they were acting so crazy.

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "We aren't going to do anything with him. Not yet, at least, dears. Of course, we should probably get him some new clothes while we're in Diagon Alley. His old ones are beginning to smell he's worn them so long."

"I'll ask him," said Harry, getting up from the table. He took a plate of food with him (Choosing the runniest eggs and the most burnt piece of toast he could find) before trudging upstairs to the attic. He heard Draco inside the door, muttering to himself.

"Talking to yourself?" he asked, maliciously.

"I'm the most interesting conversationalist, especially when the only other option speaks in howls," said Draco. Harry grinned. _Living with a ghoul would be a blast._

"There's always me to talk to."

There was a pause. "I'll stick with myself, thanks. More unpredictable."

"Fine," said Harry, miffed. "I was going to ask if you wanted some fresh clothes from Diagon Alley, but if you're fine with smelling as bad as you look, I'll leave you to your conversation."

And with that, Harry turned on his heel and began to walk away leisurely. He knew he wouldn't be going far. And sure enough–

"Wait."

Harry turned. "What is it, Malfoy?"

"I-I could do with some new clothes, and maybe…well…" Malfoy sounded like every time he talked, the dentist got to pull another tooth.

"What?"

"I wouldn't mind a book, if you could spare one."

"I'll see what I can do," said Harry, non-commitally. "Any book, or would you prefer one of the seventh year textbooks?"

"That depends on whether or not I'm going back to Hogwarts this year," said Malfoy.

Harry paused. A month ago, he never thought he'd be having this conversation. No one had worked harder last year to bring down the school than Draco Malfoy, but Harry was feeling an inkling of understanding; maybe Draco hadn't had much choice, maybe he was doing what he could to save his family, and his mind had probably been poisoned since birth. _It's all probable, _Harry thought,_ but has he really changed?_

"We'll have to see how the tea leaves come out."

"Potter?"

"Yeah?"

There was a long silence. "I'd like to go back."

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Diagon Alley was hot and stuffy the next morning, its streets crowded with families doing their shopping for school, the odd wizard or witch just shopping scattered throughout the crowd. Most of the families were walking around in tight clumps, the adults' hands conspicuously fingering their wands. Harry noticed with a pang that a few more stores had been closed since his last visit, including _Quality Quidditch Supplies._

"Went out of business," said George, as he and Fred met up with their family at the top of the street. "Not many people are interested in Quidditch right now."

"Yeah," said Fred. "They're all more interested in staying alive."

"Don't know if I'd want to live in a world without Quidditch, though." George commented, echoing Harry's feelings.

"How's your business doing?" asked Hermione, looking worried.

"You wouldn't believe the trade we're doing!" said Fred excitedly. "We're the top sellers in joke gifts AND self-defense equipment! Got a nice little side job developing covert explosives for the Ministry. Basically we improved on our old fireworks. We can make a bomb that looks like a fountain pen, and with enough power it could level a whole building!"

"Wow, I guess we should start calling you two the 'Q' branch then, shouldn't we?" Hermione giggled. The Weasleys all looked nonplussed.

"Why?" asked Ron.

"Never mind," said Harry throwing a smirk to Hermione, absurdly happy that they had an inside joke, just the two of them. "It's a Muggle spy joke. Where are we off to first?"

"The bookstore," said Hermione.

"Hermione, if we go there first, it'll be the last place we go today, thanks to you," Harry laughed. Hermione threw him a pretend venomous glance, before grinning back.

"Alright, how about we go check in on the Twin's shop?" she said.

"Exactly our thought!" said Fred. "Come on! Lots to see!" And they all marched off to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, which was easy to spot with its garish signs and masses of children.

"We left LeeJordan in charge of it for right now. Come on, move aside! Very important wizards coming through!" The group pushed and shoved through the crowd. George ushered them all into a back room, and Harry noticed there was a much more military feel to the place since the last time he was here. In the corner was what looked like a crash-test dummy, covered in burns and mismatched limbs. At the sight of Fred and George, the dummy sprang to its feet and ran over to the twins, as though expecting a treat. Fred and George grinned evilly at each other.

"Ahhhhh, you've never met Umbridge, have you?" said Fred.

"We have," said Harry, "but she looked a bit more feminine the last time we saw her, not much, mind, but still." Ron snorted at his joke and Hermione playfully knocked him with her shoulder. The new feelings regarding Hermione that he'd been able to ignore due to Malfoy's dramatic entrance flared in his chest again. Harry shifted away from her even as he wanted to shift closer.

"It's an honorary title," laughed George. "This one's a lot brighter, though. We've been able to teach it loads of tricks. Wanna see its favorite?" They all nodded.

George held up a coin. "You might want to get behind something," he warned, and Harry took him at his word. He tugged on Hermione and Ron's sleeves and nodded to the far counter. They ducked behind it, with only Harry's head sticking out over the top. He checked on Ron and Hermione, both looking nervous, before focusing back on the twins.

"Umbridge," said George, flipping the coin into dummy's expectant hand, "play dead."

The dummy clasped the coin and held it firmly to his chest, before falling dramatically to the floor. The twins took two large steps back and then, with a force Harry wouldn't have expected from such small coin, the dummy was blown apart. Fred and George cheered.

"Taaa-Daaa! Mind you, we'd be going through about forty of him a day, if we hadn't taught him another trick. Umbridge! Rebuild!"

Umbridge's legs staggered to their feet, held for a moment as if to check their status before heading for the torso. With a swift kick, the torso went flying and reattached itself to the legs. At the same time, the two arms stood up on their fingers, and walked, spider-like, to the torso, reattaching themselves with a quick jump. The head was a difficult matter, as the neck had been twisted. The arms picked it up, twisted, pushed, and finally banged it back onto its own shoulders. Looking very pleased with itself, it scurried back over to its masters like an overjoyed puppy.

"Good boy!" said George. "He's our most dedicated worker!"

It took more than an hour before the group made it out of the twin's shop, and they left much more burdened than when they had arrived. Fred and George had piled so many gag wands in their hands that Harry was sure he would mistake one of them for its real counterpart. Resigning himself to some horrible magical mishap in his near future, he scanned the streets for danger as well as fellow students. Most of the people walking Diagon Alley were treating him with a new level of respect. When he looked at them, they would look to the ground, a habit which Harry found very annoying. _It's not like I'm going to strike them down if they dare to look at me or anything_ he thought to himself. And then, he met a pair of eyes that didn't look away.

"Seamus!" said Harry excitedly. Seamus was standing with his best friend Dean Thomas, and both were studying Harry. Dean nudged Seamus, and said "Go ask him." Seamus took an uncertain step forward, glanced back at Dean and at his reassuring nod Seamus determinedly walked over to where Harry was standing. Harry frowned. He'd almost forgotten. Seamus had lost his entire family as well. It had been in the _Daily Prophet_ the day he'd been picked up from the Dursley's.

"Hey, Seamus," he began, uneasily. "Sorry to hear about…what happened."

"Sorry about Ginny," said Seamus. He was holding a lot in, and Harry knew from his face that Seamus wouldn't let a single bit of it out in front of others. "Harry, I'm curious – you gonna be doing the DA again this year? I know last year we took a bit of a break, but I'm eager to learn more."

Harry frowned. He hadn't really thought about the Defense Against the Dark Arts group he and Hermione had put together two years before. He supposed it would be good to do it again, especially in dangerous times like this. And he definitely wouldn't mind having a chance to do something he liked with his friends once a week. He looked at Ron and Hermione.

"Whaddaya reckon?"

Ron nodded his head vigorously, and Hermione smiled and said "Of course."

Harry turned back to Seamus. "Keep your coin around," he said. "Interested in taking the fight to the Dark Side with me?"

"Yeah," said Seamus seriously. "But I need to get trained up first. I don't know enough yet to kill the ones that took everything from me." And with that, he turned and walked away.

Harry turned to look at Ron and Hermione, both of whom looked uneasy at the prospect of killing anyone. Hermione cleared her throat.

"So," she said, "Bookstore?" Ron rolled his eyes behind her, and Harry grinned.

"No point delaying the inevitable."

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The mood inside the bookstore was subdued, as business had slowed considerably over the summer.

"Half of our textbook clientele aren't coming in," moaned the shopkeeper. "The regular students are too scared to come back, and most of the Slytherins aren't returning because their parents are fugitives! Even the Slytherins who have nothing to do with You-Know-Who are staying away because they think they'll be persecuted by the other students."

"Sounds like we need a Slytherin in good standing who could lead the other students back to Hogwarts," said Hermione out of the corner of her mouth. "Know any?"

"I might know a guy," Harry whispered back, using the opportunity to move closer to Hermione. "But it'll be tough convincing anyone to let him back in."

"Well," said Ron, "If we really want that git to come back – and we do, right?" The other two nodded; Harry none too enthusiastically. "If you stood up for him, Harry; you're the one who's been right all these times about You-Know-Who. Anyone from the Ministry would listen to you, even if they didn't want to. You're the "standard bearer," or whatever the _Prophet _is calling you these days."

"I suppose," said Harry. He hated the idea of standing up for Malfoy. "I can't just be his friend though, all of a sudden."

"You don't need to take him as a friend, Harry," said Hermione her hand resting on his arm, in support Harry knew, but that didn't stop his traitorous stomach from flopping a bit. "You just need to tolerate him. Make a truce."

"Right. Maybe I'll offer up an olive branch. Get him a nice book like he was asking for. Maybe…a nice…_Muggle_ book." Ron and Hermione laughed as Harry looked around for the muggle books and a bit of an escape from Hermione. He needed to get himself under some semblance of control.

"They're pretty easy to find here," said Ron. "They're in the smallest, dustiest corner." With one glance, Harry saw he was right. The collection of Muggle books fit on one shelf, and that shelf was behind the perpetually opened door to the shop. Harry and Ron walked over to view the selection, and found it to be mostly old poems, many with a magical undertone. Harry used the moment of shifting through some of the books to give himself a stern talking to. _This has to stop. It's just cause of the stress of the last few weeks…the scary notion that I almost drove her away is messing with my hormones. That's all. I _don't _feel anything like that for Hermione. I felt that kind of thing for Ginny. Hermione's my _friend _my _best friend_ and no more. Plus, she's for Ron, she always has been._ Harry thought it was a good pep talk, but for some reason, his heart wasn't in it.

He had looked through an old an unused copy of _Beowulf_ when another book caught his eye. _Nursery Rhymes of the British Isles._ Harry chuckled to himself and when Ron looked up he tossed the book to him. Ron began flipping through the pages, laughing as he came across nursery rhymes that struck his fancy.

"Definitely for Malfoy!" he said, holding up the illustrated version of _Little Boy Blue_. "And look! It teaches you how to play hopscotch on the next page! Just what he needs up there in…"

He stopped. The pages had been flipping by so quickly; neither he nor Harry had time to recognize it, but when Ron opened the book wide, Harry saw, laid out like a hopscotch line:

_One for Anger_

_Two for Mirth…_

"HERMIONE!" Harry and Ron yelled together. Hermione, who had been searching for a used copy of _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7,_ came running over. She took one look at the poem, and covered her face in disgust.

"I can't believe it! I was searching through all of those wizard's books, looking for anything to do with Ravenclaw! But the poem doesn't have anything to do with her! It's just a nursery rhyme!"

Ron still looked puzzled. "What does it mean though? Do we need to find a hopscotch pitch in Hogwarts?"

"No," said Hermione, looking pensive. "I think…we have to find the birds."

"Birds?" said Harry, completely at a loss. "The poem never mentions any birds."

"It does! Just look at the title!" Ron looked down. _The Magpie Prophecy._

"What's a magpie?"

"It's a bird, like a raven!" Hermione said excitedly. "There must be something to do with magpies at Hogwarts! It could be another clue, or it could be the horcrux itself!"

"We've got to get to Hogwarts as soon as possible!" said Harry. Hermione was already headed for the door. Harry turned to Ron. "Let your Mum know we're going to have to cut the rest of this trip short."

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An hour later, the trio was back at the Burrow, researching everything they could about magpies. Ron had picked up a copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,_ but couldn't find any reference to Magpies and magic. Harry was looking through an old set of Encyclopedias. Hermione, however, came over with a book titled _The Folklore of Ancient England._

"Wild!" she said after a few minutes reading. "According to this, magpies were once thought to predict the future! You could tell what was coming, depending on how many of them you saw in flight. Also, they're seen as really bad luck, because they steal shiny objects."

"Great," said Ron. "But how is this going to help us? Is there a flock of them around Hogwarts somewhere?"

"No," said Harry, "But there might be a painting or a statue of them in the castle."

"Where though?" asked Ron, scratching his head. "Who'd want to keep a painting or statue that glorified thieving birds that symbolize bad luck? I mean, look at this book! It says the magpies were cursed for holding onto the blood of the devil! What sort of slimy git would want to hold onto devil's blood?"

A light came to Ron's eyes and he quickly glanced at Harry their eyes meeting, green to blue, before they both looked to Hermione's brown ones.

"Of course." She whispered.

"Who-" Harry started.

"Else?" Ron finished.

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"Well look what the cat dragged in, or should I say garden gnome, Weasley? I can see from up here that your garden is simply infested!" Draco Malfoy gave a theatrical shudder, as Harry, Ron, and Hermione opened the door to the attic. "Hmm, I was just about to say how much I'd missed you three, but then I remembered…I don't."

"We need your help," said Harry, cutting through the regular taunting and circling. "Are there any magpies in the Slytherin Dungeons?"

Malfoy smiled. "Could be," he said evasively. "Of course, I haven't the faintest idea of what a magpie looks like. Some kind of dessert?"

Hermione held out a picture of one that she had found in a dictionary.

"Ah, yes. I think we might have a few of those, somewhere. In fact I think there are some in the Common Room, actually. I take it you all are going out on another excursion?"

"Yes. You're positive they're in the Common Room?"

"Maybe," said Malfoy, gleefully. "I don't know. You never can tell with those grimy old paintings. Now, if you were to take me to the Common Room with you…"

"Not bloody likely!" shouted Ron. "We may not have turned you over to the Ministry, but that doesn't mean we trust you any farther than we can throw you. You are NOT coming with us!"

"And why not, Weasley?" Malfoy stalked closer to the three of them, menace at being told no emanating off him in waves. Unconsciously Harry shifted his body so that at least half of him was in front of Hermione. Malfoy noticed the movement and gave Harry a searching look before focusing back on Ron.

"Because…because you're NOT!" cried Ron. "What if you tried to escape? You could be back with your father by midnight, letting him in on all sorts of information!"

"Escape from the three of you, without my wand?" sneered Malfoy. "And I'll bet my dear old Dad'll have a great little shindig set up for me if I go back. I'm pretty sure we still have a fully working Rack and an Iron Maiden in our basement left over from the Inquisition."

Ron opened and closed his mouth a few times, and looked to Harry for help. Harry was about to pick up where Ron left off, but Hermione stepped around him, speaking before he could.

"Let's try this." She glanced at Ron and Harry reassuringly before focusing back on the tall blonde. "Why do you want to come, Malfoy?"

Draco dropped his sneering demeanor. "Because I want to get out of this room, Granger. The smell of mothballs in here is so pungent, I'm afraid I'll never get it out of my nose. I'm sick of pacing around in here, waiting for something to happen out there. I want to _make_ something happen if I need to. Besides," he said casually, "If I'm going to stay here, and not be sent to the Ministry, I might as well do something to help."

Harry was shocked by the turnaround in Malfoy. Yes, he was still a snotty twit, but now it seemed he was a snotty twit on their side.

"Why are you like this all of a sudden?" asked Ron, his voice strong but quiet. Draco stared at him.

"Wait for your father to try and kill you, and then ask me that." Draco focused back on Harry. "Now, can I come, or not?"

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"Why is it always us who has to go searching for these things?" asked Ron casually, as Draco opened the door to the Slytherin Common Room in the dungeons under the Hogwarts Lake. "I mean, they do have wizards a bit more prepared and experienced than us to do this kind of thing."

"It needs to be us," replied Harry. "I don't like anyone else fighting my fights for me. And, hey, I've got a prophecy on my side that says I'm the only one who can beat Voldemort. That's got to count for something."

"I suppose," said Hermione. "Of course, the fact that it never says you defeat him with the help of your friends doesn't bode well for Ron and I."

"It doesn't say you don't help either," said Harry, smiling. "Wonderful things, prophecies. They leave so much room for discussion."

"Yeah, I don't think the prophecy saw me coming," said Draco. "Now, if you three would like to get to work, here's the painting."

Malfoy stopped and gestured to a large landscape that was hung over the fireplace, displaying the dark forest at night. The only light came from a full moon shining over the scene, illuminating the birds in the dark trees. Every bird appeared to be asleep, heads tucked under wings, the markings on the wings appeared to be those of magpies.

"You ever seen them awake?" asked Ron.

"I noticed when I wore my gold ring, and put in front of them, they would take notice," said Draco, waving a hand across the painting. Every time the glint of gold shone next to the sleeping birds, their heads would shift, eyes looking out into the world beyond the painting.

"Neat trick. That gets them awake, but how does it help us?" said Harry.

"Let me see," said Hermione. She went up to the painting, searching the frame. "A clue, another riddle, anything. Maybe it has a title that'll give us a hand." She sighed, and ran her hands over the frame. Then, pausing, she shifted her attention to the actual canvas.

"The canvas has holes in it," she said. "Next to the heads of every bird, there's a hole."

"Let me see," said Ron. "Yeah, tiny though. You reckon something goes in there?"

"Something that the magpies want," said Harry.

Ron nodded. "Well, whatever it is, it looks to be about the size of a quill tip. Do we have to have what they want on us? No, it has to be somewhere around here. Like in a drawer, or…"

"Or in the frame." Draco muttered, skimming his palm along the bejeweled frame. "Maybe…" he muttered, as he ran his fingers across the jewels. Suddenly, his fingers stopped. "There's one loose here," he said, working his fingers around the little ruby. He flicked it with his fingernail, and the tiny jewel popped out. Immediately, all of the seven magpies in the portrait were looking up. Harry looked closer at the actual birds.

"They all have different colored eyes. Look, see? This one has red, this one has yellow…"

"All the colors of the rainbow," said Hermione, her eyes twinkling. "Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, and Violet."

"Wait," said Ron. "How do we know how many to put into the painting?"

"We need all seven," said Hermione, smiling slightly.

"How do you know?" asked Harry.

"Because we're looking for a witch," said Draco. "'Seven for a witch, I can tell you no more.' That's how the rhyme goes." Hermione had filled him in on their trip last trip to the castle before they'd left the burrow.

The four of them spread out along the immense frame, searching for jewels that were loose. Some were loose through the passage of time, but were the wrong color. Harry stopped Ron from accidentally trying to fit a clear diamond into the golden magpie's slot.

"I'm afraid to know what happens if we get this wrong," Harry said.

"I'm afraid to know what happens if we get it right," replied Ron.

After half an hour of close scrutinizing, they had lined up the proper gem to the proper bird. Every time a jewel was placed in the painting, the matching bird would lift up its head, and take the gem in their beak. Finally, Harry took the last stone, a deep green emerald, and placed it in the beak of the bird directly in the middle of the painting. Suddenly, light shot across the painting, connecting the seven gems. The light spread throughout the canvas, building in intensity, until an immense beam shot out of the painting and into the opposite wall, which was bare. The wall dematerialized, leaving a dark doorway.

"Always wondered why we didn't have anything there," said Draco. "I suppose we'll be going in then?"

"You won't be," said Harry. Draco looked almost hurt and ready to retort, but Harry kept going. "You know the fastest way out of this dungeon, Malfoy. We'll need you out here in case something goes wrong."

"How do we know we can trust him?" said Ron.

"We don't." replied Hermione. "We're just going to have to." Ron looked like this was the last thing he wanted to do, but solemnly nodded. Harry was grateful for Hermione's quick assessment and comprehension of the situation.

"Don't make me regret this, Malfoy." Harry said quietly. Draco nodded and gave a half-hearted salute.

"If we're not back in fifteen minutes," said Harry, "Come in and see what's taking us."

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Harry lit his wand inside the passageway, and found himself in a cavernous room, which appeared to have been a chapel of some kind. There were thousands of candle holders along the walls, although none of the candles were lit. The stone floor was cut with strange runes, all leading to an altar, which lay in the middle of the room. And there, on the altar, was an owl.

At first, Harry wildly thought that it was alive. The eyes were so life-like; it looked as if it had merely lighted there to rest. But as he got closer, Harry saw the feathers were shining, reflecting his wand's glow off the soft metal. Hermione placed her hand over her mouth when she saw it.

"Of course!" she said. "Owls are a symbol of wisdom, the thing Ravenclaw valued above all else. But look," she said, pointing towards the back, "There's a keyhole here. This was her safe!"

"So…is this the Horcrux, or is it something inside of it?" asked Harry.

Ron grimaced. "Only one way to find out." He flashed a grin at his companions. "Who gets to handle the dangerous artifact?"

Harry and Hermione stepped forward. "I will," they chorused. Ron smiled. "Well, you didn't give me a chance to say that I would too!"

"Only one should touch it," said Harry. "That leaves two people to fix whatever this thing may do. I say I should do it." Harry finished, desperate to keep Hermione, and Ron, out of danger.

"Course you do, Harry," said Ron, smiling. "But give me one good reason why I shouldn't do it. I mean, Hermione's the genius, so it shouldn't be her–" Harry watched Ron flash a smile at Hermione, her face flushed, her mouth open in a surprised "O" and felt an unfamiliar stab of jealousy. It flared even brighter when she smiled back and Harry flashed on the almost kiss he had interrupted. Suddenly that large and scaly something erupted in his belly again and he did not want Ron to be alone with Hermione.

"And YOU can't pick it up because we're not losing another Weasley!" Hermione said, still smiling at Ron. Her statement snapped Harry out of his selfish and unwanted thoughts. He realized Hermione was right. There was absolutely NO WAY Ron was doing it. Harry couldn't stand losing either of them, but Ginny's death was still so fresh for everyone that he did not want to go back to the burrow with a broken, dead, or missing Ron.

"I agree with Hermione." Harry said taking a step toward the statue. Ron simply matched Harry's step with his own.

"You can't knock me out of the running just because I _might_ get hurt. That applies to all three of us."

"But you–" Hermione started to say something, what they'd never know because at her obvious desire to keep Ron safe that large and scaly beast in Harry's stomach returned, clawing at his insides and making him wish Ron would grab the owl regardless of the consequences. This thought was so horrible and shaming that Harry burst out with a loud "Wait!"

Harry took a deep breath and looked back at the owl. He needed to focus on this last horcrux, he _needed_ to bury this strange and unnerving attachment to Hermione and get back to the way he was. _First things first._

After a moment Harry turned to Hermione. "We'll draw straws. Hermione, could you magic a few pieces for us?"

Hermione nodded. But as she began to say the spell, Harry dashed up to the owl figurine and grabbed it. The last things he saw before he felt a familiar pull at his navel were Ron and Hermione's surprised and scared faces. He realized, with a thrill of horror that the owl was a Portkey.

He felt his feet land on hard rock. He was on a foggy stretch of nowhere, surrounded on all sides by hard, flat granite. Automatically he searched for cover, but found none. Suddenly, there was a voice at his ear.

"Hello, Harry."

Harry spun quickly, wand up. It was Voldemort. Voldemort flanked by Wormtail, his silver hand twitching. Harry pulled pointed his wand and shouted "STUPEFY!" Wormtail was caught unawares, and fell to the ground. Voldemort laughed a cold, high cackle.

"It was not his fight, Harry. This is _our_ story, and it will end today."

"Even if you kill me," Harry said, buying time, "My friends will kill you."

"I fear not, for you see, the prophecy states that only you can kill me."

Harry's eyes widened. Who had told Voldemort the rest of the prophecy? Then he remembered. He had mentioned the full prophecy near Malfoy. _Malfoy! How could I have believed him reformed for even one second? How could I have been such a fool?_

Harry screamed in rage and threw himself at Voldemort. But the dark wizard vanished. Harry felt himself hit wet stone, jarring his wrists and banging his knees. When he pushed himself up off the ground, he noticed his hands were covered in something red. _The ground is wet with blood! I'm covered in BLOOD!_ And then he saw it. Wells of blood, springing up from the cold earth, pooling around Harry, rising up past his shoes, his knees, up over his shoulders. Harry began to tread in the red liquid, the stench of blood filling his nostrils. He had to stay afloat; had to defeat Voldemort. But his clothes were weighing him down; he could feel his strength ebbing away. Slowly, very slowly, he felt himself sink beneath the crimson ocean…

As quickly as it had risen, the ocean receded. His knees and wrists found ground again, but this time it was dry. The foggy, enshrouded plain he had been standing on contracted and darkened, until Harry saw the blurry form of Draco Malfoy standing above him, a frightened look on his face.

"Harry? Harry! Are you here?"

Harry got to his feet groggily. Where were Ron and Hermione? _What was Draco doing here, looking so concerned? Hadn't he just betrayed them all to Voldemort?_ Harry decided direct action was necessary, and punched Draco with all the force he could muster. Unfortunately, that wasn't much, and he ended up back on the ground again, too weak to get up while Draco simply rubbed his jaw once before his trademark sneer graced his features.

"If that's thanks for saving you, don't bother next time."

"I don't need your help, you traitor!" spat Harry. "You sold us out to Voldemort! Where are they? What have you done to Ron and Hermione?"

"What? Sold you…what?" Harry struggled to rise, but couldn't and Draco must've noticed how very tired he was because he dropped his cold and sneering Malfoy act. "They're right over there, where you left them." The blonde boy said, pointing.

Harry followed Malfoy's arm and saw Ron sprawled on his back, unconscious. Hermione was crumpled on the floor next to him, slowly opening her eyes. Harry felt a physical stab of pain in his chest at the glazed look in her eyes; _she's not supposed to get hurt._

"I just revived her," said Draco, his cold drawl seeping back into his voice. "It's not nice to stun your friends. At least not in Slytherin. I don't know about you Gryffindors. And it's certainly not nice to tackle them so hard that they crack their head on the stone floor. Though that might be some form of Hello in Gryffindor for all I know." He smirked but Harry was feeling drained, and the room seemed to be getting fuzzy around the edges.

"Get away…get away from me…traitor…" And with that, Harry's vision went black and his head hit the stone floor.

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Harry awoke to find himself in bed at the Weasleys, with a steaming mug of tea next to him. Ron was standing above him, staring out the far window, looking terrified and pale, and there was a soft hand grasping his tightly at his side. He squeezed it back and swallowed convulsively.

"You're awake!" Hermione squeaked, her hand tightening on his. "Oh, thank goodness. Thank GOODNESS!" She dropped her head onto his upper arm and the smell of her hair filled his nose. It was a very subtle scent, fresh and clean and minty, and for a few blissful seconds the only picture in his exhausted brain was her face, the only thought flitting through it was _hmm, that's nice._

"Good to see you again," said Ron gruffly, moving Harry's focus from the subtle mint cloud that had engulfed his brain to tall pale boy, still looking a bit frightened, but now trying to hide it. "You know, you're not half-bad at wrestling. Nearly took my head off back there." He smiled and collapsed into the chair on Harry's other side.

"What? What are you talking about? When did I do that?" Suddenly, Harry remembered who had revived him. "Where's Malfoy? Did you get him?"

"Harry, Draco's back in the attic." Hermione answered a confused look on her face. She glanced at Ron who shrugged. "He went in there voluntarily."

"Well, the Ministry can have him after what he did."

"He didn't do anything, Harry," said Hermione slowly. "It was all you."

"What?" He looked to Ron who nodded. "What? No." Harry was astounded.

"As soon as you touched the owl, your eyes went all blurry," said Ron. "Hermione pulled out her wand and you attacked her with a stunning curse. Then, when I tried to pull mine out, you tackled me! Knocked me silly, I must admit. Then, well…" Ron trailed off looking back to Hermione. Harry really wished they could keep their eyes to themselves.

"After that, we're not really sure. Malfoy revived me, and then you passed out again," said Hermione, looking shaken.

"Malfoy! He told Voldemort about the prophecy, after the owl Portkeyed me to some…rocky…place!"

Ron looked down at his feet. "You didn't go anywhere, Harry. The owl had a Legillimency curse on it. It made you think you'd been Portkeyed, read your thoughts and used what it saw there against you. It was just luck you were wearing the glasses my brothers gave you, or else it really could have sunk its claws in deep. But Malfoy was able to get it away from you. After you passed out he gave it back to us, wrapped up in a Slytherin banner, if you can believe it, so it couldn't get anyone else."

"So, the field, Voldemort…it was all what? A hallucination?"

"No more real than a dream, 'cept you were acting on it."

"Your brain thought it was real," said Hermione. "You were barely breathing by the time Draco came to check on us. You were flailing about on the floor and muttering about drowning. Harry, if Draco hadn't come in when he did, hadn't thought to get that owl away from you…you could have died." Her hand tightened on his again and Harry thought he saw her eyes tear up a bit before she ducked her head. Harry's heart beat faster, Hermione's worry over him speeding it up, as well as the idea that he, Harry, could have truly hurt her and Ron in that dungeon, hell, that he had hurt them.

Harry sat up in bed. He couldn't believe he had attacked his own friends. He couldn't believed he had been saved by Draco Malfoy of all people.

"Malfoy's up in the attic?" Harry asked quickly, barely waiting for Ron and Hermione to nod. He bolted out of bed, and sprinted for the door, adrenaline pushing his tired body. Vaguely, he could hear Ron and Hermione running behind him. He didn't stop until he got to the attic door, where he rapped his knuckles against the wood.

"What?" came Draco's voice from the other side.

"I want to talk to you," said Harry.

"So talk!" said Draco. "You just woke me up, you know!" Harry opened up the door. He saw Draco sprawled out on the floor, using a folded dress as a pillow. He was squinting in the light. "Mind keeping this brief? I've got a busy morning planned."

"Why did you come back up here voluntarily?" said Harry.

"The last time I saw you, you took a swing at me. I wanted a door between you and me the next time you were conscious."

"You saved my life," said Harry. "You saved all of our lives. You helped us retrieve something that will help to destroy Voldemort."

"That I did." Draco's voice held no emotion, no tone.

Harry put out his hand. "Thank you, Draco."

Draco looked momentarily stunned. It was the first time he had heard Harry use his first name. A brief flash of emotion shone in his eyes. Just for a moment. Then, the cold Malfoy smirk was back. He stood and took Harry's hand in his and shook it.

"Don't mention it," he said. "Ever. Now, if all the theatrics are over, I'd like to get back to my busy day."

"You can come downstairs if you want," offered Harry. There's an extra bed available on the second floor. Or, if you want to stay up here, we can bring it up and you can keep the door open from now on."

"I think I'll stay up here one more night, take you up on that second floor room tomorrow. I'm too exhausted, what with being your savior and all, to trudge all the way downstairs. But I will keep the door open…thanks."

Ron and Hermione smiled at Harry, before heading back downstairs. As Harry turned to go, he heard something he had never heard before, had never expected to hear.

"Harry." Draco had just called _him_ by his first name, Harry paused a moment before facing his old nemesis.

"Yeah, Draco?"

"Thanks."

Harry nodded, turned, and walked down the stairs.

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	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I'm NOT J.K. Rowling. Nor do I own Harry Potter. But I do enjoy twisting them to my will. And many thanks to the incredible M, who makes my stories pretty!

Harry Potter and the Marauder's Vendetta

Chapter 10: Bound to the Rock

Hermione had walked into the Twin's Room to find Harry lying flat on his bed, writing in his journal. At first, she nearly squealed with happiness: _Harry is actually _using_ the present I gave him!_ And then she remembered his essays: the ones that looked as if they were written by a person with only the vaguest knowledge of the English language. She remembered the nights spent poring over his old Potions assignments, trying to fix grammar that looked like it had been translated from Troll. _Oh God,_ she thought. _He's using my present without supervision!_

"Ummmm…Harry? What's that you're doing?" Hermione asked, trying to sound nonchalant and not the least bit worried. Harry jerked, looking surprised, before he sprouted a quick smile.

"Hi! Sorry, didn't hear you come in. I've been too wrapped up in this," he said, pointing to his journal. "This book really is amazing, all the history that my family has, and I never even knew about it! Like, for instance, this squire. He disappeared after the siege of Camelot, but people say he was one of the first men to rise to Arthur's Defense!" He looked thrilled. "He was there, with the Once and Future King. It's just so amazing, thinking how far back the story goes. And that one day, people might be reading about me, about us, about all of us! Well, the idea got me so excited, I decided to get a little of our story on paper. I just finished up with my first year. You want to see?"

Hermione moved across the room to sit on the edge of the bed and scan the drying page, her worst fears confirmed. It seemed fitting that he had just finished writing about their first year, because his writing seemed to be that of an 11 year old.

"What do you think?" asked Harry, his eyes beaming.

"Well, it's not _bad_, Harry. I'm not sure if I would readily call it good, though, but it's not bad." Harry's smile deflated, and Hermione felt a wash of guilt. "It just needs a little work, that's all!" she said, pleadingly.

"But it's my story!" said Harry, sounded wounded. "This is how it happened! If I add a bunch of flowery nonsense about it, it wouldn't be my story anymore."

"Oh, Harry," said Hermione, soothingly, "I'm not saying it needs to be florid, but like you said, people are going to be reading this story for years to come. You're such an important wizard; I wouldn't be surprised if the bookstores will start to sell hardcover copies of this in a few years! Are you sure that this is what you want people to read? Are you sure there weren't times when you wanted to say something else, but just didn't know quite how to say it?"

"A few times," said Harry, still looking a bit grumpy. "But I thought that would be, you know, a bit of the charm of the story. It would have my voice."

"It can still have your voice. Just make sure you have your voice saying what you want it to say."

Harry remained quiet for a moment, thinking this out, before sitting up and scooting close to Hermione. "Give me an example," he said, all his focus on her, an eager desire to learn in his eyes. Hermione knew the look as she'd seen it in her mirror almost every morning, but coming from Harry it seemed to mesmerize her.

Hermione edged a bit closer to Harry. She suddenly felt strangely flush, as if the room had a blazing fire in it. Attempting to ignore it, she returned her attention to the journal.

"Well, first of all, you should probably start a little earlier. You began this with Hagrid coming to pick you up. You don't even mention where you were when he found you…"

Harry looked away, across the room and Hermione knew he was remembering. His eyes went misty and as the memory floated back to him his face softened with a small smile. Hermione's heart gave a definite flutter as she took in his profile with that bemused little smile gracing his lips. "It was this miserable little shack on an island. I don't think I'll ever forget the way he just knocked the door down before shouldering his way through the opening, wielding that pink umbrella of his like...like a…a…Erm…"

Hermione cleared her throat and smiled to distract herself from Harry. "This is what I mean. You want to give the best description you can, not just one that fulfills the obligations, but one that really makes the person want to read on, to let their imagination take flight!"

Harry was smiling at her.

"What?"

"I just like the way you talk when you get intense about something. Like when you started Spew."

"It's S.P.E.W.! And honestly, I was under the impression you and Ron thought I was loony during that period of time."

"Oh, we did," said Harry. "But I still like your intensity. Now, what else would change?"

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And so began what would soon become a nightly occurrence. The trio, joined by Draco Malfoy, would meet in an empty room of the Weasley house, and talk for hours. They would try to get everything they could remember written down, asking each other how they remembered the same instance. For example, Harry was fuzzy about how he got from his parent's home to the Dursley's, other than knowing that Hagrid had taken him. So it added so much more to their story to discover that according to Ron, from Mr. Weasley, Hagrid had nearly dropped him when a strong gust of wind almost blew Sirius's motorbike out from under the large man. Harry soon realized that being a member of his adventures frequently meant that long periods of time were spent unconscious, petrified, or otherwise unable to recall the specifics required for a good, complete story. So, whenever they had to know what happened while one person was out of it, they would turn to another, who would gladly fill in the blanks.

Surprisingly, one of the biggest helps in this endeavor turned out to be Draco, who relished in giving detailed accounts of Slytherin victories. This nearly caused Harry to revolt against Hermione's resolve for fact checking, particularly after Draco's enthusiastic retelling of Harry's broken nose on their train ride to school the year before.

"We're not putting that in there!" shouted Harry, trying to close his book as Draco smirked behind him. Hermione, however, stood her ground.

"Then are we going to put in how much you two teased me over Lockhart? How about when Ron was under the effects of love potion? What else should we leave out?" She asked, her voice clipped.

"Yes, Potter. What other things should we gloss over? Are we going to neglect that little part of our history where you cursed my chest in two with that _Sectumsempra _spell? Because I think that I've been very forgiving about that incident thus far. Shouldn't we put it in there to keep things…fair?"

Harry grumbled that he supposed so, but was continually forced to edit his descriptions of Gryffindor failures in order to make them stronger.

"We have to be fair," chided Hermione. Otherwise, we're no better than our enemies." Harry shrugged, and crossed out another few lines.

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Later that night, after Draco had retired to his new room on the second floor, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were finishing up their latest entry, Harry and Ron's defeat of the troll on Halloween in their first year, and the subsequent start of their friendship with Hermione.

"What do you think would've happened if Quirrell had never let the troll in?" said Hermione, stretching her legs out until the tips of her shoes met the edge of the hearthstone. "I mean, you both said you were feeling guilty about how you'd treated me, but would we still have been friends if things had gone differently? I mean, what if it was Pavarti or Lavender in that bathroom? Or what if it had gone into a broom closet instead?"

Harry and Ron looked at each other. Ron shrugged.

"No idea, really. You got to wonder…you think things like this, all this trouble…you think there's anything more to it?"

"You mean like fate or destiny?" asked Harry.

"I mean, things happened at Hogwarts that have shaped the rest of our lives. Take the troll, for instance. If we hadn't rescued Hermione, she might never have become our friend. And then you would've died, Harry. Either on your broom in front of everybody, or down in the dungeon, trying to save the Sorcerer's Stone. Because I don't think you could've gotten past the fire without her help. It all seems like there is…I don't know, more to it."

"But is that evidence that we three were fated to be together? Or just that we were incredibly lucky and in the right place at the right time?" said Hermione.

The trio sat in silence, unable to answer.

"I guess all we can say is that it happened that way," said Harry. "And whether its fate or destiny or just dumb blind luck, I'm happy it happened the way it did."

"Yeah, or else you would've been history by now!" grinned Ron.

"And you would probably have flunked out, ages ago," Hermione chuckled.

But they both knew deep inside, that Harry's meaning went farther than that, and they both felt the same way.

Ron got up from the sofa, yawning, and heading for the stairs. "I reckon you two know enough of the story to finish up without me."

The other two bade him goodnight, and then returned to the journal. Harry was sitting in an armchair before the dying fire in the living room. Hermione, feeling restless, stood up and looked over his shoulder. Harry turned looked over his shoulder, shifting in the chair, to face her.

"Where do we draw the line?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"There are only so many pages we can write. How much should we put in this? How much is important? There are a few stories that I wouldn't mind telling, but they really don't have anything to do with…well, with anything else. They're just stories. And I can't think of a reason why we should keep them around."

Hermione stood very still. Harry could tell that she wasn't thinking of an answer. He could tell the moment that he started talking that she had an answer in mind, and was just thinking of how to phrase it best. After a minute of silence, Hermione knelt down, put the book in her lap, and took out her wand. With the wand, she began tracing a line on a blank sheet of paper.

"There isn't a lot of adventure in being a dentist," she began. "My parents take me on trips because they need to do something that isn't in any way associated with their jobs. That's why we go to France; it's why we go skiing. It's why we went to Australia a few years ago, when I was about ten. We spent a few days in Sydney, but my parents wanted me to see the Outback. So we went to Ayer's Rock. I know it had a much more interesting name in the native language, something…Uluru. Yes."

"That's a mouthful," said Harry. Hermione smiled and continued.

"When we got there, we spent the next few days looking around at the cave dwellings, the paintings drawn there centuries ago by the Aborigines. It was all fascinating; but on the last day we were there, we met an old man. His skin was like leather that had been left out in the sun; his eyes were deep. He had a voice, like nothing I'd ever heard before. It was like he was singing every word he said, and his conversation was poetry. I remember him like it was yesterday, with a beaten and weathered cowboy hat over his flyaway hair, sitting on an old wooden stool. He was a storyteller, and that was his name, as far as anyone knew: people had always just called him Storyteller. He made his living telling the stories of his people. He said he would sell his memories like firewood, to set the minds of his listeners ablaze."

Harry was now sitting in rapt attention. Hermione was tracing her wand in little figure-eights across the page, occasionally eliciting a stream of green and golden sparks. When she began again, her voice had taken on the singing rhythm of the storyteller, and Harry was amazed at how melodious it was.

"I am planted at Uluru," she chanted. "I am as much of the rock as the rock is itself. But I shall die, while the land lives on. I should have slipped a noose 'round the neck of time, and stayed young always. But now, I sit on a stool, remembering. My face has grown a hundred wrinkles, and each wrinkle holds a thousand tales: My walkabout of the ancient lands, to find the secrets of the Dreamtime, when the world itself was called into being. I have seen the Rainbow Serpent, spilling forth the rain of ages from his gaping mouth, and letting our world drink again."

Hermione had begun tracing her wand faster and faster, allowing the sparks to stream out of the wand in a continuous multicolored band of light, looking to Harry like a serpent, wrapped around itself, writhing into the shape of symbolic infinity. Hermione smiled again at Harry, allowing her hypnotic voice to change into her regular, sweet tones.

"I asked him for a story," she said. "He stared into my eyes, delving deep inside me, searching for something."

The figure eight she had been drawing suddenly formed dark pools of black in the center of each O.

"I see you are a lady who desires knowledge," she said, taking on the deep tones again. "You have a future of boundless wisdom, and countless tales of adventure. I shall give you a story of my walkabout, as I followed in the paths of my ancestors. On a certain trail, far to the north of these grounds I call home, I came across the barren soil. I asked the earth why it would not allow its dirt to live, and it told me of the Rainbow Serpent, the great lord who will give us rain. He had been traveling this path that I was on, and stopped here to feed. But the animals were greedy, and chased the serpent to the boundaries of their land. The great lord allowed this to happen, for he wished to test the generosity of those whom he served. The fire burned deep within, for he knew the creatures of the earth did not respect him; they did not respect each other, and instead fought each other for the water that He gave freely, as a gift. This angered the Serpent, and his anger flowed into the land, burning it, making the plants shrivel, the water to escape into the air. The animals were all left to starve for their disrespect. And from that day forward, the earth has not allowed that stretch of land to grow, to show proper mourning and penitence to the Great Serpent."

Harry sat spellbound. The serpent in his book was gliding up and down the page, occasionally letting out sparks. Hermione waved her wand over the snake in the book, and it evaporated.

"I was spellbound by his story, and made him tell me more. I learned so much that day, and was fascinated by the idea of a giant snake that gave the rain, and could cause an entire forest to lie down and die. But then as we left in the evening, just as the sun was setting, I heard my Dad tell my Mum that the area the old man was talking about in his first story was actually a huge uranium deposit, and the radiation had killed any living things around there."

Harry sighed. _Of course._ The scientific answer would be much simpler than the mythical story. He felt drained; even though he knew the story wasn't true, it was the story that captured his imagination, not the cold, hard facts.

"And that's why I think it's important to record as much as we can. There is so much we can know about our world, but if we can't tell stories, and hear about the little things, whether they are true or not, then its just facts with no room for imagination." She closed the book, and handed it back to Harry.

"If we run out of pages," she whispered, "We'll find more." Harry nodded getting out of the chair to face her.

"You are amazing, Hermione." Hermione blushed.

"It's just a little thing I do."

Harry smiled. "I could listen to you for a lifetime."

He didn't know why, but Hermione seemed flustered by this. The book slipped in her hand, and she and Harry both reached for it at the same time, their heads close behind. With a loud CLUNK their heads collided, and Harry saw a bevy of brilliant stars explode before his eyes. When his vision cleared, a moment later, Hermione was holding her head, laughing until she was nearly gasping with exertion. Harry grinned and reached out to cup her cheek with his palm.

"You OK?" Hermione felt her breath catch in her chest. She reached up and placed her hand over his, relishing, if for the moment, the feel of his rough palm against her cheek.

"Yup, OK."

They both stood for a moment, barely daring to breathe, while their brains fired conflicting orders of retreat and victory. Hermione, with a small and self-deprecating sigh, finally stood.

"Goodnight, Harry."

Harry sat where he was, watching her ascend the stairs. She had been gone for a full minute before he could muster enough breath to whisper:

"Goodnight."

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Harry was awakened the next morning by Hedwig's impatient rapping on the window. He sighed and blinked blearily at his watch. It was almost noon. _Got to stop staying up so late writing,_ he thought, while stumbling over the dirty clothes on the floor to get to the window. Harry saw a letter from Hogwarts clamped in Hedwig's beak, though not the usual thick envelope he expected at this time of year. It was, of course, from Professor McGonagall, but this was not the regular letter welcoming him back to another school year. This one was short and direct.

_Be in my office at 1PM today, with Mr. Malfoy._

_-M. McGonagall_

Harry jumped out of bed and quickly began searching for fresh clothes. He had a feeling that since Draco's presence was requested as well, this little meeting was about the ex-Death Eater more than anything else. And that made Harry nervous. It was becoming clear, from his help with the Ravenclaw Horcrux, that Malfoy could be helpful; it was also becoming clear that he was a bit more than just helpful. In the past few weeks, Harry had realized that a rushed but so far solid friendship had developed between his little trio and Draco, one that they never would have expected to even be plausible at the end of last year. _And now,_ Harry thought, _here I am, ready to defend Draco to Dumbledore's most trusted friend and second in command._ He sighed. Draco's would not be an easy case to make.

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The Flue Network had opened the Headmistress's Fireplace for travel, but the time limit was very short. These days, no one wanted anyone to have easy access in or out of Hogwarts. It was rumored that McGonagall was searching for an appropriate magical creature to guard the castle, but was having difficulty finding one that would be both effective in frightening off Death Eaters, but not dangerous to students. But that creature, whatever it might have been, would not be the only change under the new Headmistress.

Harry was shocked to see the transformation of Dumbledore's office that had occurred. He should have realized McGonagoll wouldn't have kept all of Dumbledore's old things, but Harry hadn't thought about this aspect of Dumbledore's no longer being Headmaster. Gone were all of the whirring, smoking, whistling contraptions that Dumbledore had kept as mementos. Only a few of the more practical and useful pieces remained, including a large stone table with his pensieve resting on top of it, and a few of Dumbledore's old contraptions, which were whirring silently in the corner, next to pages of hand-written notes. But the rest of the office had been given a much more Celtic overtone, with an impressive carpet bearing a Celtic Cross covering the stone floors. The portraits of the former headmasters and headmistresses were pretending to snooze in their frames, except for a few that were shooting glances toward a large, roughly hewn stone statue. The statue was of a man with wild hair and eyes, holding a huge broadsword in one hand, and clutching his side with the other. Harry saw that the hand was holding a massive wound. The man in the statue was also lashed to a giant stone behind him. Harry assumed someone had tied him there to torture him. _Then why would they give him a sword? _He wondered.

Professor McGonagall was standing behind her desk as Harry and Draco entered, and he saw her lips thin as Draco stepped out of the fire. Apparently, she had not yet fully forgiven him for his role in the Death Eater's attack last year either. Harry got the same feeling in his stomach that he had when he'd stood before the Wizengamot, the feeling that he was about to face a firing squad with a shield made of wet paper. He had never been good at convincing Professor McGonagall of anything, especially of anything this big. He looked around for any kind of support, and his eyes fell upon the portrait of Dumbledore. He was not pretending to sleep, but following him and Draco with a warm smile on his face and his normal twinkle in his eyes. When Harry met those blue eyes, Dumbledore winked. Draco looked up at the picture apprehensively but the portrait just smiled at the young Slytherin.

"It's all right," Harry heard it whisper as they passed.

Professor McGonagall directed them to their seats, and each of them sat in the high, straight backed chairs, shifting uneasily. Harry saw real fear on Draco's face as he faced down the most fervent supporter of Albus Dumbledore. But Professor McGonagall's face was set, her emotions unreadable.

"Thank you both for coming on such short notice," she began. "I felt we have a few issues that need to be resolved before the beginning of the next term. First, I need to make sure my facts are correct, Mr. Malfoy." Draco flinched visibly in his seat.

"Is it true that you were the one who orchestrated the bringing of a cursed necklace into Hogsmeade last year?"

Draco's eyes shifted uneasily. "Yes," he muttered.

"And is it also true that that you attempted to poison Albus Dumbledore, and succeeded in poisoning Ronald Weasley?"

Draco had sunk lower in his seat. "Yes," he said, almost a whisper.

"Is it true, really true, that you conceived a plot to allow entrance into the castle to a group of Death Eaters, and that you were under orders to kill the Headmaster of this school?"

He couldn't even answer; instead giving the slightest of nods. Harry was sure if the ground had decided to swallow him up at that moment, Draco would have happily dropped into the abyss.

"One last question, Mr. Malfoy," said Professor McGonagall icily. "Is it true that after all of these misdeeds, you wish to return?"

The question seemed to stir the last of Draco's ebbing courage; he shifted higher in his seat and managed to raise his head, though Harry noticed he didn't meet the Headmistress' eyes.

"I do, yes."

Professor McGonagall gave a sharp nod of her head. Harry was amazed that she could play her cards this close to her chest.

"Why do you want to come back? You worked very hard and nearly succeeded in destroying this castle and all it stands for only a few months ago. Why are you set on returning?"

Harry didn't know what to expect. He had been wondering the same thing. What had caused Draco Malfoy to suddenly make such an erratic turn towards contrition?

Draco looked up, directly into the Headmistress's eyes. "It's the only home I have left," he said.

Professor McGonagall stared so long into Draco's eyes that Harry thought she might be using Occlumency. But after a moment, Draco's eyes dropped again. He had lost the staring contest.

"In all my years," McGonagall began, "I have never heard of such a request. You have done more to break the spirit of this castle than almost anyone else in the history of Hogwarts. You conspired to take over this school, you attempted to kill three times, and nearly succeeded twice, and you did it all while wearing the mask of a student. Professor Dumbledore loved his students more than his own life, and you threw his trust away as though it meant nothing. And now, after all of this, you expect me to allow you to return?"

"No," said Draco, "I really don't expect you to let me come back. But if it were possible, I would want to come back, I would do anything to make up for the things I've done."

McGonagall sighed. "It…It is possible for you to return, Mr. Malfoy. After consulting with many people, including former headmasters," she nodded toward the painting on the wall, "I have decided that you may return, but on a provisional basis."

Draco looked stunned, and Harry assumed he looked the same way._ She was letting him back in?_

"Provisional?" Draco croaked.

"Yes. You are to report to the Head of your House every morning, and you must allow him to Occlumense you in order to see that you have been doing nothing to put your enemies, your professors, or your school in danger. Can you accept that?"

Draco nodded without hesitation.

"Secondly, I need you to take up the responsibility you have been avoiding since Fifth Year, when Professor Dumbledore made you a Prefect. From what I heard, you have merely used the position as leverage to gain more power, to bully younger students, and other Houses. You must now use your position as a tool for keeping the peace. If I hear one report of you breaking the rules, or abusing your authority, I'll boot you out of this castle myself. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

"And lastly, if you are to remain here, you will have to become useful to us as well. I have reinstated Professor Lupin as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and I hear he is planning on reinstating Dumbledore's Army as a defense training group. I want you to join, Draco. And I want you to bring Slytherins with you."

"WHAT!" said Harry, shooting to his feet. The DA was his, his and Hermione's, and Ron's. What right did McGonagoll have to say who could join?

"Sit down, Mr. Potter. I know it is hard to imagine Draco joining your defense group, but it is a necessary step towards bringing about House unity. Slytherin House has never gone so far as it has now to alienate itself from the rest of Hogwarts. They need a leader, Mr. Potter. Someone they have trusted; someone who will bring them back into the spirit of brotherhood that once permeated these halls. Slytherin House needs Draco Malfoy. And this school needs Slytherin House. We can't be a stable pedestal of knowledge if one of our legs is missing. Do you accept these conditions?" Harry glanced desperately to Dumbledore's portrait; unable to comprehend having Slytherin's trained in Defensive and Offensive spell work. Dumbledore's portrait simply smiled serenely and nodded his head. Harry knew this was a losing battle, and if Dumbledore was okay with it, then maybe, just maybe, everything would work out.

Draco lifted his head. "I do, Professor. Thank you." McGonagoll looked to Harry but all he could give her was a muted nod. Appreciating Draco for his help with the horcruxes and the book, enjoying his surprisingly funny and witty company was one thing; allowing him to join one of Harry's most beloved activities at Hogwarts, training him in DADA work…training other Slytherins, that was a whole other issue. One that Harry apparently needed to work through. _If only Hermione were here. She'd know just what to say._

"Don't thank me," said McGonagall brusquely focusing back on Draco. "I never would have let you in, personally, but Dumbledore argued strongly for your return." She glanced up at Dumbledore's twinkling eyes in his portrait. "Even after he's gone, he still cares for the students above all else, and that apparently includes you, Draco." She leaned over the desk, so that her piercing eyes were only inches away from Malfoy's face.

"I am placing an extraordinary amount of trust in you. Do. Not. Disappoint. Me."

Draco gulped, and nodded again, hurriedly.

"Very well, then. You may go." Draco stood. Harry stood as well; sure she was finished with both of them.

"Just a moment, Mr. Potter," said McGonagall, holding up her hand. She waited for Draco to Flue back to the Burrow, and then turned her attention to Harry.

"Don't think that the spirit of brotherhood is the only reason I want him in Dumbledore's Army," she said in a terse voice. "I know that Dumbledore left a legacy of trust, and would wish that I trusted all his students as much as he did, but if wishes were dragons, we'd all be on fire." Harry looked at her quizzically.

"I want you to keep an eye on Mr. Malfoy. Make sure he stays out of trouble. And if he starts any, feel free to remind him of his promise." There was a dark fire in her eyes as she said this and Harry knew he never wanted to be on the receiving end of any such reminders from McGonagoll.

Harry swallowed and nodded. "I never would have expected this change in him, Professor, but it seems to be genuine."

McGonagall sighed. "He's been through a lot this past summer, just like you have. Only what he's been through has weakened his resolve, while your experiences have only strengthened yours. But I want to be as careful as possible. We shall not be fooled again." Harry nodded, a moment of camaraderie blossoming between he and his Head of House.

"Will that be all, Professor?"

"Just one more thing, Harry," Professor McGonagall stood and faced the statue that had taken up residence in her office.

"Do you know the legend of Cuchulainn, Harry?"

Harry looked puzzled. "No, Professor."

"He was an Irish hero, still revered as one of the greatest fighters in Ireland. It is said that when he was whipped into a frenzy, there was not a power on Earth that could stop him. And he had only one weakness, that he could not eat the meat of a dog. Unfortunately, as part of the same weakness, he could never refuse a meal. And so, one of his enemies offered him a meal of dog meat, and Cuchulainn knew his fate on the battlefield was sealed. But even though he knew he was doomed, the warrior fought on, past the point of endurance, even when he had been fatally wounded. Cuchulainn lashed himself to a rock, so that he might die standing up fighting his enemies, and so that he would die looking those enemies in the eye. He fought to the last, even when all hope seemed gone. That's why I keep his statue in my office now."

Harry looked at the statue. _He's not being tortured_, thought Harry. _He did it to himself._

"We are on the battlefield, Harry. The war is in these halls. It's the war not only between good and evil, but between fidelity and infidelity; this battle will not only be going on in our own school, but in our own hearts. We are strapped to the rock, all of us. And I plan to go down fighting." She paused a moment, staring at the fierce face of the Irish warrior. When her eyes focused on his, there was a fire in them that stoked the one in Harry's own heart. "Will you stand and fight Harry? Will you stand with me and fight?"

Harry looked again at the statue, and Dumbledore's words floated back to him. _"The choice is between what is right and what is easy," _he thought. _I'm going to do what is right, even if it means I have to lash myself to a rock in order to keep fighting._

Harry nodded resolutely.

"I will."


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I own none of this! Much love to my editor, M!

Sorry it's been taking so long. Grad school classes keep getting in my way. I hope you all enjoy this one!

Harry Potter and the Marauder's Vendetta

Chapter 11: The Train

_There should be a law against full moons,_ Hermione thought as she rolled over again in her bed, trying to find a cool spot. The windows in her room were all thrown open in the vain hope of catching a non-existent breeze, which unfortunately also allowed in the streaming rays of the biggest moon Hermione had ever seen. Usually, she would be fascinated by this anomaly, but tonight all she could think of was the sleep the moon was keeping from her.

_Not everything about the Muggle world should be ignored by wizards, _she mused, folding the pillow under her head, squirming to get comfortable. _They could learn a lot about air conditioning. That could be the beginning of the strongest Human/Muggle relations since the Dark Ages: Central Air unites the world. _She laughed at her own little joke. _The Weasley's are close to being my family, but I'll never get used to sleeping in their house._ Hermione thought back to the days before she came to Hogwarts. She thought of her bedroom. It had always been the same, no matter what city her family lived in. Every wall was stacked high with teetering bookshelves, each crammed to the breaking point with books. _I always fell asleep so fast in those days,_ Hermione mused, shifting again, restlessly. _Thirty pages and then my brain would turn off. These days, my brain won't shut off. It won't stop thinking about everything. About how I'm about to start my last year at Hogwarts, about what on earth is possibly going to come after school, about this blasted heat, this stupid, stupid moon, about Harry…_

"UGH!" She sat bolt upright in bed, feeling her shirt cling to her in the humid night air.

_About Harry…_

She shook her head. The heat was causing her mind to spin in circles. _Why can't I stop thinking about Harry?_ Restless, she got up and walked over to the pitcher of water she kept on the windowsill. _Thank God I'm old enough to use magic outside of Hogwarts, _Hermione thought as she picked up her wand from where it lay on top of a pile of clean clothesShe muttered "_Frigio,_" and a jet of cold air shot out of her wand, forming a thin sheet of ice over the top of the water. She thought about stories her parents told her about when they were young, and it was so hot they would put their clothes in the freezer before wearing them.

_Works for me_, she thought, and with another flick of her wand, froze her sheets. The icy sensation caused her to shiver as she sat back down with her glass, and let the cold water trickle down her throat. The heat had been nearly unbearable the past two nights. The group had spent the days lying under the shade of the tree closest to the Weasley's house, but it had done no good; temperatures had merely gone from unbearable to intolerable. The only thing that had taken Hermione's mind off her discomfort was the fact that she was laying out there with Harry.

Harry, who had changed into his shorts. Harry, who had finally taken off his shirt in a vain attempt to cool down. Harry, whose arm and shoulder had brushed hers when he'd flopped back onto the ground next to her. Harry, who looked so handsome shirtless and a bit sweaty in the dappled shade of the tree. Harry, who with one look could make her feel like the only girl in the world…

"UGH!"

She looked back up at the moon. It was a beautiful sight, no matter how much she wished it would go away; the sort of moon that made anyone's thoughts shift to romance. Hermione rolled away, staring at the wall.

_There are more important things to think about,_ she thought even as an image of Harry's messy black hair and bright green eyes came unbidden into her mind.

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Hermione's Head Girl badge had arrived the previous morning. She had been so excited that she nearly stabbed Pigwidgeon with her quill as she wrote her parent's address on the envelope to their letter. Of course, there would be added responsibility now, but it was a small price to pay for such a great honor. She was so enthralled with her new badge it took a full five minutes to realize she was not the only recipient.

"Hermione!" Ron had cried, "You don't see Harry bouncing around like that! And he got one too!"

Hermione turned to face Ron, disbelief in her eyes. "But he was never a Prefect. How could he be Head Boy?"

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Guess it runs in the family. My Dad was passed over for the Prefect job too, but still ended up Head Boy. You don't mind that I got it, do you Ron?" _He remembers Ron's reflection in the Mirror of Erised,_ Hermione thought, remembering the stories she heard back in her first year. But Ron looked like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

"You kidding? This means I've got loads more free time! And besides, I'm still the King of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team!" He began conducting an invisible orchestra to the tune of "Weasley is Our King," as Hermione edged a bit closer to Harry.

"Congratulations," she muttered, allowing Ron to have his symphony. "It must feel great. You're more like your father every day."

"Yeah," said Harry, smiling quietly, "But I wonder if I can handle the responsibility."

"The responsibility? You've faced down hordes of dark creatures, Death Eaters, and you've fought Voldemort to a standstill almost single-handedly! But you don't know if you can handle this?"

"Yeah," Harry chuckled nervously. "Kid's are a lot different. Evildoers will pay attention to you."

Hermione could only grin. Then, Draco entered the room, his face scrunched up in revulsion. Ron had just hit a high falsetto note, and was holding it until his ears began to turn purple.

"I never should have made that song up," he muttered to himself. "Well, two Gryffindor Heads. There's a surprise."

"Almost as big of a surprise as you getting back into Hogwarts at all," replied Harry. "And I can't believe they're letting you keep your Prefect's badge on top of that!" Draco smiled.

"Someone's got to keep the castle in line," he said simply. "And I wouldn't trust it to you two. I honestly don't know anyone who's broken more rules than you three, and that might just include your brothers, Weasley."

Ron looked flattered. "Yeah, a new troupe of Marauders, that's what we are! Doing mischief for the greater good."

"All for one, and one for all," replied Hermione.

"Yeah, as long as that one is me," said Harry, smirking. Draco rolled his eyes.

"A lovely group of comedians. I'd love to stick around and have my fill of mediocrity, but I've got to go pack for the train. Judging from the state of your rooms, I'm guessing none of you has started yet?" The trio looked to each other, each shaking their heads.

"Typical," muttered Draco…

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_Yes, yes, that's it, _thought Hermione. _Think of all the work you have to do to get ready to be Head Girl. You'll need to make sure all your responsibilities are taken care of before classes every morning, so naturally you'll have to write up an entirely new schedule, and coordinate it with Harry's…_

"UGH!"

Hermione flung her pillow at the door, cursing her mind for straying back to Harry. _Why do I keep going back to him? You know he doesn't think of you as anything but a friend, and you should be thankful for you what you've got! After all, you've got Ron…_

There was a soft knock at the door. Hermione opened it, and Ron's head popped in.

"Any chance of you having a softer tantrum?" he said, sleepily.

"Did I wake you?" Hermione asked apologetically.

"Nah, it's too hot to sleep anyway. But I think you're about to wake Harry. Honestly, after sleeping in the same room as all us Weasleys, he could sleep through a thunderstorm without noticing, but you're _almost_ enough." Ron smiled. "You want a bit of the sleeping draught my Mum keeps around? You'll still wake up in enough time to enjoy the morning."

"Maybe in a bit," said Hermione. She had never liked using potions on herself when she could help it_. Turning into a humanoid cat can change a person's mind about reckless potion using,_ she thought.

"Then I'll leave you to your tossing and turning," said Ron. He turned to leave, but Hermione caught his arm.

"Ron, I need to know something."

Hermione felt shaky. _This is uncertain ground. It could ruin your friendship, one way or another._ Ron looked into her eyes and sat down. He seemed to know what was coming. He seemed to have been expecting it for a while.

"Ron, you've been so dear to me these past seven years. You and Harry have always been great friends to me, but you always seemed to be able to get past my defenses. And these past few years, when we've been fighting so hard against each other, I've wondered from time to time if-"

"If there were something more?" Ron smiled. It wasn't his usual goofy grin, but a solemn, mature smile. Hermione was amazed to see the man he was becoming shining up from underneath his usually comic demeanor. "I've been wondering it myself. We had a couple of near brushes with that line, haven't we? Even after Ginny died, we had that moment, didn't we?"

Hermione nodded. She didn't have any idea where this was going. She just felt stupid keeping it all inside anymore.

"Then, I'd like to know…well, how you feel about me, Ron."

There was a long pause. Hermione heard the crickets chirping outside, filling the night with an orchestra of music. Ron was taking his time. He looked up, opened his mouth, and quickly glanced back down again, biting his lip. Finally, he began.

"I thought about you as more than a friend for ages, Hermione. When we started to get to know each other, you became one of my truest, best friends. I wouldn't have given that up for the world. Even during the times we fought, I only kept quiet because I knew you were right, and it took me forever to get up the nerve to apologize. Then, as the years went by, I knew that you were even more than a best friend. I didn't know how or where that put you in my life, but I knew you had gotten…what's the word? You had…achieved greater status in my life. And I wondered for a long time what that meant. Was I attracted to you? You were smart, and funny, and made me feel better just by being around, even when you were annoying the pants off of me. And I have to admit, you…well…you're beautiful, Hermione."

Hermione blushed. "I'm not."

"You are!" said Ron, grinning again. "But you know what happened, just in these past few weeks? I've been spinning the same questions around in my head. Only now, with Ginny gone, I finally feel like I'm beginning to understand where you fit in my life, and where I hope I can fit in yours."

Hermione had grown very still.

"I love you, Hermione. As more than a friend. As more than a girlfriend, even. I love you like I loved her. Do you remember when we were looking at the pictures of me and Ginny in her room, right before Harry walked in on us?"

Hermione nodded. "You almost kissed me."

"Right…well, I was going to stop myself. Because looking at those pictures, I figured out that you are connected to me, but in a different way. I felt that twinge I'd always felt around you, but felt that it wasn't romantic. I felt…I feel so deeply in tune with you that I don't think I could ever live without you. You are family to me, just as much as Mum or Dad. Maybe even more than Percy." He winked. Hermione felt the tension break, and laughed.

"So, we're friends?" she asked.

Ron smiled. "To put it incredibly mildly."

Hermione felt like a huge load had been lifted off of her. She hadn't quite known how she wanted Ron to respond; her own answer was still being solidified in her mind. But when she heard him say that he loved thought of her as family, it was like her own answer had become much more clear.

"I needed to clear that up, Ron. Thanks."

"No problem, Hermione. Come here." He grinned, and she hugged him as hard as she could.

"Erm…Hermione? Why does it feel like you've been doused in ice water?"

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Harry woke up at six o'clock the next morning to the sound of a light rain spattering the window, and set to work immediately to finish up his packing. _It's year seven. You'd think I'd have this packing down to an ART. But nooooo, there's always the ten things that I forget right before we leave._ He looked over at Ron, who was sprawled across his bed, snoring loudly, and wondered how on earth he had remembered to pack all his things. Harry sighed, and had begun rummaging around under his bed, looking for the old pair of sneakers he usually wore for Quidditch, when he heard a soft purring. It was too high pitched to be Crookshanks, and besides, it was coming from under his bed. _It's coming from the sneakers!_ He thought, befuddled. Harry stretched out his arm and grabbed the purring shoe. When he turned it upside-down, a soft pink ball of fur plopped onto his hand, still purring constantly. He recognized it at once.

"Arnold!" he said, softly stroking its fur. The mini-puffskein had been Ginny's last year. Harry felt a twinge of regret. He had become used to the fact that Ginny was gone, but becoming accustomed to the truth didn't make it any less painful. _Things are going to be so different this year, probably in ways I don't even know about yet. But I wish she were here to share it with all of us. _ Harry sighed, and gently placed Arnold on his shoulder. Maybe he would make a nice pet for the Gryffindor Common Room. _We'd just better keep you away from Crookshanks,_ Harry thought.

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The trip to King's Cross was noticeably easier this year than in previous ones, due to the loss of Ginny's luggage, and the fact that Draco had barely anything that belonged to him since he had been disowned. _It would be an interesting year for him too,_ thought Harry as they piled into the Ministry cars that had been graciously donated for the drive. _Will Draco have the same clout he once had with the other Slytherins? Most of them are coming back, except for the ones whose parents are Death Eaters, of course. But can he still control them? Unify them? Unify them with US?_ Draco had been looking stoic since they had gotten in the cars. He was taking long, deep, slow breaths, and Harry had the impression he was trying to keep himself calm, and figured he was probably thinking along the same lines as Harry. A piping hoot interrupted Draco's meditation though, and he looked down to see his newly acquired owl. Since he no longer had the Eagle Owl, the Weasleys had graciously donated Pigwidgeon to him. Harry grinned. _Wasn't too many years ago that he was making fun of Ron and his bird._ Harry shot Draco the thumbs up. Draco rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

"This…will take some getting used to," he said.

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By the time the train headed out of Platform 9 3/4, Harry had already changed into his Hogwarts uniform. He was just about to sit down and wait for the trolley, when Hermione pulled him up out of his seat.

"Harry, we have to walk up and down the train with the prefects. It's part of being Heads."

"Can't we at least get a Cauldron Cake first?" Harry asked, imploringly. Hermione gave him a withering stare.

"We work before we play, Harry. Welcome to the world of responsibility."

Responsibility, as it turned out, was not too difficult on the Hogwarts Express. There were the usual groups of kids racing up and down the train's corridors, but nothing exceedingly dangerous was happening. Harry wondered inwardly how much worse it would have been if Crabbe, Goyle, and the rest of Malfoy's Slytherin gang had been welcomed back. Malfoy, for his part, seemed to be maintaining decorum among the returning Slytherin students. They had passed him in the back compartment, telling off a young third year Slytherin boy named Malone for bullying a Hufflepuff.

"…You would've let me turn him into a slug last year!" Malone was whispering viciously under his breath. "What happened to you?"

"More than you'll ever know, James. Now leave him alone, or else you'll have me to answer to. You're a third year. Act like it! You need to set an example for all the other Slyther…" Draco had noticed Harry watching him.

"Slytherins…And remember, you don't want that new Gryffindor Head Boy to think you're breaking any rules. He'll put you in detention for a month. I even heard he's working with Filch to bring back the old chains and whippings. He's a monster!"

"I'm NOT a monster!" said Harry, making the boy Malone jump a foot in the air, and dart out of the compartment. Harry turned to Draco. "Turning me into the Boogeyman?"

"You know, Potter, just because you decided to get all chummy with me doesn't mean I can't have a bit of fun. Now, try not to hex my chest open."

"Try not to give me a reason to!" Harry snapped back. He and Hermione continued down the train, and found Ron sitting in a compartment with Luna and Neville. Luna, wearing her regular turnip-shaped earrings and dreamy expression, was reading a copy of _The Quibbler_, and warning the two boys about "…The Knackerbrods that are acting up. They jump out of your toilet. And they swallow you whole!" Hermione snorted, but Ron laughed good-naturedly.

"Guess I'll really have to watch my back, next time I go to use the loo," said Ron. He turned to the pair. "Been having a good trip? Getting used to authority?"

"Never!" said Harry. "I could handle the DA, 'cause everybody was there to learn, but here, it's like babysitting a trainload of mischievous two-year-olds!"

"Oh, speaking of the DA," said Hermione, "Are you going to set up meetings again once school starts?"

Harry nodded. "Haven't given it too much thought, but it would definitely be worth it, and it sounds like its going to be a requirement for me anyway this year. I'm sure Lupin will be happy to help me out." Luna and Neville both beamed. Harry knew that they would be the two people happiest to hear of the return of Dumbledore's Army. Harry grinned at the pair. "Still got your coins?"

Simultaneously, Neville and Luna pulled out their Galleons.

"Ready when you are!" said Neville.

"Yes, we'll always come when you call us Harry." Said Luna dreamily. Harry saw Hermione give Luna an odd look out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned to her she was looking up and down the hallway, seemingly searching for trouble.

Harry shrugged inwardly and sat down on the nearest seat. Truth be told, no matter how terrifying the thought of Lord Voldemort was, it always felt better to have his friends near him. It felt less like mortal peril and more like a supreme adventure when he had an Army fighting with him against the forces of darkness. _Life certainly has been interesting. I'm going to be downright boring after I've defeated him…IF I defeat him…no, WHEN I defeat him! Might as well be positive._

"So, you excited about your last year, Neville," Harry asked casually.

"Oh yeah!" said Neville, bouncing a little in his seat. "I heard we'll be dealing with the really dangerous plants and advanced magical gardening in herbology this year, and Professor Sprout wrote me and said she may even need me to assist her in taking care of the grounds around Hogwarts."

Harry amused himself briefly with the image of Neville battling the Whomping Willow, and asked, "So is that what you want to do with your life?"

"Dunno," said Neville. "It all seems so permanent, that 'what I want to do with my life question.' I always thought of it as something way off in the future. Never thought the day would actually come when I'd be walking out of the castle and not coming back. But here we are! I suppose Herbology would keep me pretty well occupied as a career. What about you, Luna? You thinking about it at all, or are you still feeling safe in your little 6th year bubble?"

"Oh, no," said Luna. "They gave us all career advice last year, and I told Professor Flitwick right away. I want to go and work for the _Quibbler_. There's so much news that people need to know about, and my Dad could use the help. I'll be making sure he doesn't miss anything."

Hermione looked less than thrilled at the idea. With Luna, zealousness for "the truth" was nothing if not exponential. Harry turned to her.

"So, what will you be doing then, Professor Granger? Looking to go right into teaching?"

"Teaching? I don't know if I could teach. I'd much rather work for myself. Maybe I'll go and work at a bookstore, like Flourish and Blott's. There's so much I still don't know…"

Now it was Ron and Harry's turn to roll their eyes. Harry was sure that his heaven, if he ever saw it, would not be book filled.

"Well, I'm going to go work for my brothers, I expect (if they hire me, that is)," said Ron. "Nothing like setting off fireworks all day to keep you occupied!"

"You ought to try out for a Quidditch team," said Luna. "You're _amazing_ when you fly!" She turned her overwide eyes back to her magazine, and began humming "Weasley is our King" softly under her breath. Ron looked startled, however.

"You know, that's not a bad idea," he said, rubbing his chin. "I reckon the Cannons might start winning if they had a decent Keeper. Wouldn't it be just fantastic, single-handedly turning the team around?" His eyes shone with the idea of being an international Quidditch star. Hermione turned to Harry.

"What about you?" she said, a small smile playing across her lips.

Harry sat, thinking about it. "Well…I don't know. I've spent all my wizard life fighting against Voldemort." Ron shuddered at the name. "But I guess, one of these days, if I beat him, then I'll have to go find a real job. Maybe I'll go sell drills, like my Uncle. Grow a really big bushy mustache, and gain about 200 pounds."

They all laughed at this.

"My life is going to be so boring without any Dark Lords to fight. I mean I've been getting ready to battle these Dark Forces for so long, what will I do when they aren't there anymore?"

"Maybe you'll go on vacation," suggested Neville.

"But that's only if you _do_ defeat them," said Luna, speaking almost to herself. "There is always the chance that they'll defeat _you."_ No one responded to this. It was true, Harry thought. The chances were very great that he wouldn't make it to see what awaited him on the other end of this school year. They all sat in silence, searching in vain for a new topic.

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Outside the train, the wind began to howl as dark thunderclouds blew in from the West. The rain, which had been coming down in buckets, was becoming almost biblical in its deluge, and the conductor of the Hogwarts Express had cautiously slowed the train, to make sure it didn't jump the tracks. It was lucky he did, for if he hadn't he might never have seen the cloaked figure waving a red lantern. The conductor sighed. This had become quite normal procedure in the last few years. Inspections, Dementors searching the train, somebody always needed to get on for _some_ reason. He growled to himself, not wanting the train to be delayed any longer than it had to be. And why was this idiot stopping the train on the bridge? _They could've picked a better spot…_

BOOM!

The conductor was thrown back by the blast of the explosion in front of him. He had barely stumbled to his feet when another explosion rocked the bridge, this time from behind the train. He waited for the train to fall, but there was no sound save the screams of the children in the compartments behind him. _They've blown up the track in front and behind us!_ He realized the train and its cars must all still be in between two supports; that's why they hadn't fallen. The Conductor breathed a sigh of relief.

It was the last breath he ever took.

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In their own compartment, Harry and his friends were thrown to the floor by the concussive blasts as well. But unlike the conductor, Harry was on his feet and moving as quickly as he could. He had wondered if something like this might happen. _It's where we're most vulnerable_, he thought. A dark blur whizzed by the window, followed by another, and another. A flash of a mask among the dark blurs confirmed Harry's worst fear. _Death Eaters!_ _I thought they might attack the train, but I didn't think they'd trap us,_ he thought, sliding away the door The hallway was full of panicked voices, and Harry heard loud screams as the lights in the corridor suddenly blew out.

"Stop it! Stop pushing! _LUMOS!"_ Harry's wand illuminated the pale, scared faces of his friends and fellow students. They were all looking to him. They wanted him to lead. Harry took a deep breath.

"DA, this compartment! Everyone else, into the last compartment! Keep your wands out!" Harry turned to see Hermione, Ron, Luna, and Neville, all with their wands out, and all awaiting his command.

"We need to get the students off this train!" Said Hermione. "There are kids here who've never used magic before in their lives."

Harry nodded. "Ron, when the DA gets in here, take all the Quidditch players, tell them to get their teams together and to get on their brooms. Get as many of the first years off of this train as possible! Hermione, separate the rest of the DA up, and have them guard every entrance and exit to that last compartment. Neville, Luna, you're going to be in charge of the first years until they get onto a broom. We've got to move fast, and I'll bet we don't have much time, now MOVE!"

Harry quickly turned away, but felt a familiar tug on his shoulder. Hermione was clasping onto his sleeve, keeping him from breaking away.

"Harry," she whispered. "Please…" The dim light from his wand glittered in her overbright eyes. Harry wanted to stay there, to hold her, he suddenly felt all the feelings he'd been ignoring for her burst into his chest At the moment the strongest was the need to protect her.

"Go," he whispered, pulling her hand off.

Harry heard boots coming from the opposite direction, thick, heavy boots running up behind the students. He knew there were still people in the cars up ahead of him, so he grabbed his wand and set off down the hallway. Suddenly, from his left, Harry heard a shout of "STUPEFY!" Instinctively, he ducked, and the curse went far over his head, connecting with a Death Eater who had been hiding in the shadows. Harry pulled his wand on the spellcaster, and saw it was Seamus.

"You owe me!" he said with a smile, raising his wand in salute. Unfortunately, he didn't see the death Eater coming up the side of the window on his broom.

"Seamus, look out!" Harry yelled. He saw Seamus turn toward the window, saw the look of triumph on his face change to anger, and then he was hit by a spell. Harry didn't immediately see the effect, but as soon as Seamus moved, he began screaming, writhing on the floor. Harry began to see lines of blood drawn along his flesh, as if someone had begun to skin him. Seamus began convulsing, unable to move, and the Death Eater in the window swooped in for the kill.

"That was just a taste," he whispered in a voice Harry didn't recognize. "More shall come, before the end." The Death Eater picked Seamus up, saw Harry, and ran for his broom. Harry started firing off hexes, but the Death Eater had made it to his broom with Seamus before Harry could stop him. But suddenly, a bright flash filled the sky, and Harry saw the Death Eater drop off his broom. From another direction, he saw Ron fly in and pick up the falling Seamus. Ron met his eyes and Harry nodded, turned, and ran off down the train.

In the next compartment, Harry was stunned. First years, too frightened to move, had sought shelter in their compartments, and the Death Eaters were now making sport of them, levitating them, and throwing them up against the walls. Harry heard one shout, "Look! This one is from that filthy half-blood family! Let's show him what we think of that!"

Harry knew he couldn't defeat them all. Panicking, he reached inside his robes, looking for anything.

He found Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

The Death Eater began laughing as he watched the helpless Half-Blood boy struggle against his magic. He was so engrossed he didn't duck (As many of his comrades did) as the first of the Racing Rockets streaked towards his face. Sparks flew as his robe ignited, and he ran screaming off down the corridor. Unfortunately, Harry now knew he had their undivided attention. He felt around in his bag, and felt the top of a smoke bomb. _Brilliant! _He thought, and pulled the top. Immediately, toxic brown clouds of putrid fog wiped over the compartment. _Stink Cloud! I'll have to remember to "Thank" Fred and George for making it a Stink Cloud! _ Many of the students began to panic along with the confused Death Eaters, and Harry pushed his way through the room, stunning anything that was bigger than he was.

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In the farthest compartment, next to the engine, Draco was pushing first years through the doors, moving them back toward where Harry was. He had heard the explosions, and even worse, seen the brilliant flash of green light. _Anywhere's better than here,_ he thought, pushing his fellow Slytherins towards the door. He knew all of them. He knew they would be just as terrified of the Death Eaters as any Gryffindor. These were just kids; kids who were from good families and Draco knew that the wrath the Death Eaters felt would be especially heinous towards the Slytherins, who would be considered traitors for ever coming back to Hogwarts.

"Blaise!" shouted Draco, calling to the tall boy crouching in his compartment, "Get them out of here!"

"I can't!" Whispered Blaise Zabini, cowering even further down in the darkness. "They'll kill me! They'll kill me! I'm too young to die!"

"Then it'll be a shame when _I_ kill you! Now get going, and keep down!"

The door to the engineer's room exploded, and Draco could see his body, along with the body of the lady who pushed the cart. He felt repulsed, knowing he would have been with these Death Eaters only a few months ago. Draco drew his wand, pushing Blaise and the last of the Slytherins out of the compartment.

"Don't! D-Don't move!" said Draco. His eyes were wide. He knew he looked terrified. Unfortunately, he was terrified. A roll of laughter filled the lonely compartment.

"Draco, Draco," came a silky voice from the Death Eaters, "You won't stop us. If you were any son of mine, I'd be dead by now." Draco paled even more than usual. _Father?_

"However, if you let us pass, I might let you live. If you keep standing there, I will have to kill you…" Draco took a step back. _I can't!_ He thought. _I can't fight him!_ He thought of the years he spent being trained as his father's successor, as a worthy heir to the Malfoy name. Draco felt his hand trembling. He clamped his other hand against his wand, brandishing it at his father. Lucius Malfoy sounded amused.

"You would strike down your own father?" he asked, chuckling lazily.

"Y-YES!" cried Draco, pushing his wand forward. _I can't!_ His brain said. He remembered the past few weeks, the kindness and trust he had been shown by Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys. They had trusted him when no one else would have, took him in when they had no reason…

Lucius Malfoy laughed, a cold sneering blast of laughter. "I don't think you will! _Crucio_!"

Draco had not expected it, but jumped out of the way before the curse hit him. Quickly, he scrambled back up to his feet, once again blocking the door. The laughter had gone out of the Death Eaters now. One of them muttered, "Just kill him and get it over with!"

"Shut your mouth, Crabbe!" shouted Lucius, looking momentarily perplexed. Draco was stunned. The father of one of his best friends. _His son would do the same,_ he thought._ Anything for the Dark Lord._ Draco stood up as tall as he could, once again brandishing his wand.

"I won't let you pass!" he yelled, praying he wouldn't have to fight all of them alone. Crabbe guffawed.

"Then you'll pay! _Avarda_…" The one Lucius had called Crabbe lifted his wand.

"_Expelliarmus!"_

Crabbe's wand went flying from his hand. Draco knew they wouldn't wait for him to get another curse off. With one last glance at his father, Draco tore up the empty compartment and slammed the door.

"Draco!" He saw Harry and Hermione racing up the cabin towards him. Draco braced his shoulder against the door.

"We've got a lot of trouble on the other side!" Draco yelled, and Harry and Hermione saw the door buckle as one of the Death Eaters slammed up against it.

"Move," said Hermione, pulling Draco aside. She drew her wand, and pointing at the door, said "_Pactum"_ Harry heard the door click and lock. But Hermione wasn't done. She touched her wand to the door itself and muttered "_Caementum!"_ Harry was stunned to see the door turned to stone!

"I've been studying," said Hermione, shrugging under the stunned stares of the two boys. "Come on, we need your help, Draco!"

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Ron had been moving students off of the train and onto solid ground two at a time, even though the brooms were not meant to carry that many. Every time he made the trip, the broom dipped dangerously. He could see the other Quidditch players struggling to remove students too. Ron had put Zacharias Smith and Neville on patrol for any Death eaters on broomsticks, and occasionally heard a shouted curse and a scream. He didn't envy the Death Eater's fall; it was nearly two hundred feet to the bottom of the canyon, and then there was the river.

By the time Draco, Harry, and Hermione showed up, the last of the students were being ferried across the crevice. Draco took two of the Slytherin second years, and leapt onto a waiting broom. That left only Harry and Hermione.

"Get on a broom, Hermione!" Hermione, however, had turned a sickly shade of green.

"It's so far to the bottom," she muttered. Harry knew she had been afraid of heights and flying, but he thought she could get past it in this situation!

"Hermione, we need to get out of here! Any second…"

And then Harry felt a terrifying lurch from the train. One of the supports that had been holding up the bridge had taken damage in the explosion, and began to give way. Harry and Hermione were suddenly tipped vertically, as the tracks beneath them gave way. Harry knew they were done for.

Then, with a lurch and the scraping of metal, the train stopped falling. Harry and Hermione landed near the exit, and Harry heard a sickening snap from Hermione's leg and a small cry of pain from her. He groaned, knowing the connectors that were keeping them from falling wouldn't last long. In desperation, he grabbed Hermione's hand and scrambled over to his Firebolt.

"Listen Hermione, I know it's scary, I know you don't want to, but we have to _go_!" Hermione looked up and nodded, looking terrified.

"Just hold on to me, ok? Don't look anywhere else, _don't look down_, and just hold on to me! Tight!" Harry mounted his broom, and as he did, felt the train begin to sway. One of the connectors cracked, and the train fell another few feet. Tentatively, Hermione hobbled over to the broom, and put her arms around Harry. Harry felt her bury her face into his back, and put one of his hands around hers, to keep her steady and comfort her.

"Ready? Here we…"

But just then, Harry felt the last connector give way, and the compartment begin to fall around them. Hermione screamed, but grabbed him as tightly as she could, too terrified to let go. Harry pushed off, and at the same time drew his wand. _I can't catch up with the door,_ he thought, _so I'll have to make a new one._ He pointed his wand at the ceiling, rapidly closing in on them, and yelled "_REDUCTO!" _The spell broke through the closed door, and Harry saw the dark night sky above them, flashing with lightning, and then with a burst of fresh air, they were out.

Hermione screamed again, and Harry looked behind him to see what was wrong. Hermione was staring straight down, watching the compartment they were just in crash into the river beneath them. Harry clasped her hands even tighter.

"I told you," he yelled above the storm, and aiming for the land a few yards away, "DON'T! LOOK! DOWN!"

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I'd really appreciate it if you guys would review this: )


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Oh grad school, why do you torment me with all this WORK? I've been working so hard, sorry for not posting more. If you like this, please review it! Oh, and I'm not J.K. Rowling.

Harry Potter and the Marauder's Vendetta

Chapter 12: Zephyra and Ajax

The minutes after Harry and Hermione's escape were a blur of incomprehensible panic and fear. Harry felt the splash of mud as he landed; Hermione's arms still cutting off circulation to his lower body, but his head spun so much that he could not stand. Instead, he sank slowly to his knees, Hermione's hands skimming up his torso before gripping his shoulders. Harry forced his eyes to stay open, his brain to keep working as he tried to make sense of the world around him. From every side came the sounds of frantic crying, of shouts for help, and above it all, the grotesque crescendo of Seamus Finnegan's ragged screams and cries of pain.

Harry knew he had to get up. He had to _get up_. Others were counting on him, depending on him. He was the one people looked to, he was expected to lead…but his legs felt like granite, his knees seemingly sunk into the muddy ground like a broken statue's, his head ached and pounded, his arms were rubber. He was drowning, suffocating in pain…

Suddenly he felt Hermione's hands slip from his shoulders. Harry's adrenaline kicked in and he spun around on his knees, reaching out in time to cradle Hermione before her head hit the ground. She had fainted from pain and exhaustion, her leg still bent at a cockeyed angle. The sight of Hermione passed out in his arms reinvigorated Harry. He looked up, his gaze suddenly clear as ever, and saw Ron, running in every direction at once, trying to calm the terrified first years.

Harry felt sorry for these young boys and girls; their first taste of magic had been a brutal ordeal. He remembered with a pang of guilt that he was Head Boy. Carefully he shifted Hermione to the ground, a hand surreptitiously skimming through her hair before squeezing her shoulder. Taking a deep breath Harry pushed himself onto his shaky feet, stumbled to Ron, and grabbed his arm.

"We've got to get help," he said, as he unobtrusively checked to make sure Ron was alright. He seemed whole and undamaged and when Ron nodded Harry took in the chaos around him attempting to organize himself.

"Not too many are badly injured." Ron reported. "Seamus got the worst of it, with that bloody curse, but we've got a lot of cuts and bruises here. Plus, we need to somehow get these kids to safety. The train's gone and Merlin knows when those Death Eaters will be back…Where's Hermione?" Ron's eyes went wide in fear. "She was with you in the compartment!" Harry nodded his head in the direction of Hermione, unsure if he could do what was needed if he had to see her still and broken form again. Before he could assure Ron that she was okay he tore across the grass to her.

Harry turned away. _Of course he'd need to be with her. They're practically together after all. _Shaking his head of thoughts that unpleasantly tightened his gut he focused back on the chaos. He knew Hermione and Ron were both alive, and that Ron wouldn't leave her side, but the rest of these children needed help, and quickly. He decided in his own mind that he wasn't going to leave them until help had arrived, and most of his trusted friends were incapacitated. Dean was cradling his wand arm, looking as confused as many of the first years, Pavarti and Padme were cradling each other, weeping, and Luna was looking serenely into the canyon, absentmindedly putting pressure on a gash above her eye. His eyes found Neville and surprise overtook Harry's worry. Neville looked dazed but was competently corralling a growing crowd of mixed house first years around him. He was speaking to them in the soft voice he used with his plants, and it seemed to be calming the children, a few were still crying and most looked frightened but there was no longer an air of desperate hysteria surrounding them.

Neville met his eyes and Harry gave him the brightest smile he could muster and was rewarded with a surprisingly confident smile and a strong sharp nod in return. Harry turned looking for the last and newest addition to his little group, Draco. He peered through the darkening night and found him, crumpled to the ground, leaning against a massive boulder, looking off into nothing. Harry knew he was thinking of his father, and the terrible decision he just been forced to make. _He chose those kids over his father. He chose _us_ over his family and his loyalties._ Under any other circumstance, Harry knew he would try to comfort his comrade, assure him that he'd done the right thing, but safety and rescue were more important. _We can pat him on the back inside the castle._

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Malfoy did not even flinch when Harry grabbed his arm, and barely noticed when Harry pulled him to his feet. In his mind, he was still on the train, facing down his own father with a wand he knew he would not use; not against his own father. Even if it meant his life, Draco could not become a killer. Draco knew the thought should bring him comfort, but it only brought pain. Pain similar to a sharp smack to face…

"OUCH!" Harry had been shaking Draco for the past minute, attempting to revive his shaky grasp on reality, when that didn't work he slapped him across the face, hoping the shock alone would snap Draco to the present.

"Hey! Glad you're back!" Harry said, sarcasm dripping. "You know how to apparate, right?"

"More or less," said Draco, rubbing his cheek and thinking of the uncomfortable feeling of his whole being squeezed into a space smaller than a millimeter in diameter. _Rather like being born, except in reverse_, he thought.

"Good!" said Harry, and Draco saw the manic glint of the leader in Harry's eye again. Even he felt a strange desire to follow Harry when he was acting the hero. Of course, he usually avoided it… "Go to the Ministry of Magic. Get Kingsley Shacklebolt. You know him?" Draco nodded. "Tell him what happened, get him to summon the Order, and bring the Aurors, and as many medi-wizards as they can spare from St. Mungo's. Then, you come right back. We'll need you here." And with that, Harry spun on his heel and hurried off._ We need light. Light will calm the younger kids and give the rest of them something to focus on. I can't figure out who needs what if I can't see-_

Harry's planning was interrupted when Draco grabbed his arm and spun Harry to face him. "Why me? I just had to face down my own father on that train! Don't you think its time for someone else to step onto the pitch and take a…" Draco's voice died at the hard green glint in Harry's eyes. Before he knew it Harry was inches from his face.

"Listen to me very closely," said Harry, his voice low and strong and coldly determined. Somehow, Draco found this even more terrifying than if Harry had brandished a wand and started screaming at him. "I need you to do this. You did a great thing back there, standing up for those kids, but if you don't leave, and I mean right now, I promise you that I will hand you over to your father myself." Harry paused, taking a breath, his hand coming to grip Draco's shoulder. "There are bigger things going on right now than you, Draco." Draco saw no hint of fooling in Harry's eyes, and the sheer ability of the young man to focus on everyone else first tightened Draco's chest with guilt. He gulped, nodded, and with a pop, he was gone.

Harry sagged again, momentarily. He hadn't wanted to threaten Draco. He just needed to get through to him, to get him to focus. _Am I being too rough?_ He wondered. After all, they were all just students…_No_. They had all agreed to go back to school even though each and every one of them knew the cost they could easily pay for the decision. _They stopped being students today. Today, they became soldiers._Harry pulled out his wand, muttered "_Lumos_,"and marched over to the screaming Seamus. Lavender Brown was holding him, whispering, attempting to comfort him. She was crying silently, trying not to let Seamus notice. Dean had found his friend, and was methodically wiping the blood out of his eyes and off his face. Every time he wiped the blood away, Seamus only screamed louder. Harry put his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Harry, I don't know what to do." Dean muttered, his voice high. "Is Hermione around? She'll know the countercurse! I just can't get him to stop screaming…"

"_Stupefy!_" Seamus lay silently, the blood still trickling out of his wounds. Dean looked up at Harry, disbelief etched on his face. Lavender, however, looked venomous.

"There's no good in keeping him awake right now," said Harry quietly. "Both of you, light your wands, we need the light. Lavender, wedge yours into the ground and try to stem his bleeding. Dean, help me get the rest of the students together so we can see who needs help and who's okay." Lavender gave him one last venomous look before doing exactly as he said. Dean looked from Seamus to Harry and back before lighting his wand and standing with Harry. "Thank you." Harry said to both of them before heading toward Ron.

"Harry, she won't wake up, I don't-" Ron was looking a bit desperate and it dampened Harry's own slap of fear at the pale color of Hermione's face.

"She'll be fine, Ron. Take her to Lavender; she'll keep an eye on her." Ron opened his mouth to protest but Harry shook his head and kept talking. "Light your wand and come with us, we need to check on the rest of the students." Ron nodded and rose, Hermione clutched to his chest. Harry's gut tightened unpleasantly again and he turned his head, looking anywhere but at Hermione pressed so tightly to Ron's broad chest.

When Ron returned Harry moved toward Neville; Ron and Dean at his back.

"Let's get all of them together," he said.

Soon, all of the first, second, and third years were clustered together, circled around the wounded. Harry looked for the Seventh years. He noticed, with a leap of pride that the standing members of the DA had split into two groups on either side of the younger students, each with their wand out. Luna tapped her wand to her head, and Harry realized she was saluting. He tapped his wand back, grinning in spite of the bleak situation.

"Alright! We need to keep each other safe until help arrives, which I'm sure will be any minute. DA, light your wands and circle up!"

Soon, the DA had circled the students, their wands lit and casting chiseled shadows over their faces. Harry shivered. _This isn't the same group that wouldn't come to help a year ago,_ he thought. Each member was looking resolutely into the darkness, waiting for any sign of movement. Harry tried not to worry about the welcome that any arriving Aurors might receive. He turned to Ron, who was standing directly over Hermione.

"Put her in the middle, with the rest."

Ron looked briefly mutinous, but did as he was told. He laid Hermione down as gingerly as possible, and took a spot directly on Harry's right.

"What now, General?" Said Ron with a small grin. Harry could tell he was still trying to remain upbeat, even in this situation.

"Now we wait, Private." Harry answered, lighting his wand against the cold, quickly darkening night.

He didn't have to wait long. Five minutes later, the flash of three curses from the DA alerted Harry to the arrival of new wizards. The sound of Draco yelling at his comrades told Harry that they were Aurors. What he didn't expect were the stunned looks on the Auror's faces when they saw the ring of students, facing out against the night, their wands lit and their faces set. Harry felt they had done a good job when one by one the Auror's surprise changed to approval, and they all nodded to one another, seemingly proud of the DA's efforts.

Draco was not as impressed.

"You stupid git! First the Aurors nearly attack me when I show up, then I get the same reception form _you! _Nearly took my head off!" Harry grinned.

"Need a bandage, Draco?"

Draco grimaced as he moved through the crowd of students heading for Harry. "Bandage," he muttered. "I'll show HIM who needs a bandage…Merlin!" He had reached the students in the center of the circle, and had seen the carnage that had taken place. He felt a slap of guilt as he saw Hermione, lying with her leg snapped in half, and Seamus, his wounds still bleeding. He was interrupted as Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin bumped by him. Lupin moved directly to Seamus. Harry hurried to join him kneeling on the ground at Lupin's side.

"How is he?" asked Harry. Lupin looked disgusted.

"Whoever did this wasn't trying to kill him, just to torture. They used the curse to…to flay him. We need to get Seamus to Madam Pomfrey."

"What about Hermione?" said Harry. "She broke her leg and we can't seem to wake her. She needs to get to the hospital too."

"Seamus first," replied Lupin, checking the depth of Seamus' cuts. "We need to set our priorities." Harry wasn't impressed with this argument, not when Hermione was still unconscious and looking so very broken next to him.

"My priorities are…"

"With those most important to your loved ones, I understand," said Lupin, looking kindly at Harry. "And it's a mark of a great man; but not necessarily a great leader. Seamus is more critically wounded than Hermione. He's lost a lot of blood already, and he may have the scars of tonight for the rest of his life if we don't get him out of here now. Hermione is breathing, she's not bleeding, and it looks like she's got a clean break there, it should be easily set." Harry still looked dubious. Lupin put a blood stained hand on Harry's shoulder.

"You're a leader now, whether you like it or not. Think with your head, not your heart."

Harry looked up at Lupin, his feelings at war with Lupin's logic and his own sense of duty. For a moment his feelings won and he tried once more. "But Hermione…"

"She'll be fine," said Lupin, shortly. Harry knew this was the end of the conversation. "Now, help me with Seamus."

Lupin, with Harry's help, lifted Seamus up and over to a young wizard who had been healing the cuts and bruises of the students who had been only minorly injured. The more gravely injured he had set aside, and tried to make them more comfortable. Harry saw the wizard had put a splint onto Hermione's leg while he and Lupin had been talking. He smiled appreciatively. The wizard grinned back in a harried way. He had brown hair that fell to about his shoulders, which, Harry thought, made him look like a rag doll.

"Harry, this is James Barrie," said Lupin, laying Seamus down at the man's feet. "Medi-wizard and newest inductee to the Order."

"'Tis a pleasure ta meet you," said Barrie. He had a rough Scottish accent, which to Harry sounded cheerful, even at this time. Barrie stuck out his hand, but before Harry could shake it, Barrie saw that his was covered in blood and grime, and whipped it away.

"Och, maybe now's not the best time, eh?" he said, smiling faintly. Harry looked quizzically at Lupin. _Why's he so cheerful,_ he mouthed. Lupin smiled.

"Jimmy isn't really happy unless he's patching someone up. Isn't that right?"

Barrie laughed morosely. "Oh, aye, inches from death 'tis when you really know you're alive, Remus. You ought to know that better than anyone else! Well, I doona think this one is going to have any more trouble," he said, drawing his wand along a small cut on a first year's leg. "There ya go, laddie," he said, pulling a small red lollipop out of his pocket. "See the doc, get a sweet." The young boy smiled. Harry thought the young man, though strange, was quite adept.

"James, we've got one here," said Lupin. Barrie shook his long curls away from his eyes, and finally looked down at Seamus. "Bloody hell," he whispered. He spun quickly dropping to his knees, and began checking Seamus with fevered intensity. "What've they done to him?" he asked Lupin, his eyes suddenly over bright.

"Flaying curse," said Lupin, looking disgusted himself.

"Bastards…" spat Barrie, his wand tracing over the lines of Seamus' numerous cuts. Harry saw a dark and carefully banked fire in his eyes. His happy demeanor had suddenly become very cold.

"I'm gonna have to wake the boy up," he said, glaring at the cuts with the utmost loathing. Barrie looked up at Harry. "You want to hold him down, mate? 'Tis not gonna to be pleasant for him." Harry nodded and knelt by Seamus' head, holding down his shoulders. Remus went to stand at Barrie's side.

Barrie muttered "_Innervate_."The response was instantaneous. Seamus began twitching and screaming, writhing all over the ground. Harry pressed down on his shoulders, which made Seamus scream even more.

"Aye, I know it hurts, boyo, I know it hurts! Ya need ta help me though!" shouted James. "Can ya lift your arm for me, lad? I need you to try!"

"It hurts," Shouted Seamus. Harry was unsure whether than meant he couldn't or wouldn't.

"Aye, I know it does, boyo, I know it hurts. I'll make it go away in just a mo. But please, if ya can, lift up one of your arms!" Harry felt Seamus' muscles trembling under his hands. He knew, without looking, that everyone around was staring at them. Then with a lurch, Seamus lifted one of his arms a few inches off the ground. He screamed again, louder than before, and dropped his arm to the ground, whimpering and pale.

"Good, lad! That's a good lad." Barrie soothed quietly. He looked up at Lupin and muttered, "Knock him out." Then he turned back to Seamus. "Very strong of you, boyo. Strength like that, I doona doubt you'll be back on yer feet in no time! Just lay still, we're gonna fix you right up!"

"Stupefy!" cried Lupin, and Seamus once again fell flat.

Barrie dropped his head, exhausted. But when he looked back up at Harry, he was smiling. "He'll be fine. Buggering bastard of a spell didn't make it down to the muscles! But I canna fix him here. We need to get him to Madame Pomfrey's, right quick!"

Lupin pulled out a playing card, and touching his wand to it muttered "_Portus_." He then tossed the card to Barrie. "This'll get you as far as the station at Hogsmeade. Take him right up the castle, and tell the guards the password. They'll let you by. Good luck, James." Barrie nodded, took the card in his hand, placed his other hand on Seamus' foot, and winked at Harry. "See ya up at the castle, mate." And then, in a flash, he was gone.

"Alright," said Lupin, getting back up off the ground, "Let's worry about the rest of them. Hagrid will be waiting at the station, so let's get everyone together, and we can get them back on schedule."

"What!" Barked Harry. He was horrified, but was trying to keep his voice down, so as not to scare any of the students. He grabbed Lupin's arm and pulled him a few steps from the crowd. "After all that's gone down tonight, we're just going to get back to the routine? Like nothing happened?"

"Yes," said Lupin, simply. "We're not going to let this interfere with the school day any more than we have to. I'm sure nothing will happen at Hogwarts before everyone is accounted for, but we're going to keep going." Lupin glared at the carnage all around them. "I won't allow the Death Eaters to scare me out of my routine," he said. "And I'm not going to let them do it to any of the first years, either. Understand, Harry?" Harry looked around at all the students. The first years were still clumped together in the center of all the other students. Many were holding onto each other for support. All of them looked terrified. _Just what the Death Eaters wanted,_ thought Harry. _We've got to show them everything will be alright. Show the Death Eaters they can't scare us._ Harry nodded at Lupin.

"I understand."

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The trip to Hogsmeade Station seemed quick to Harry. Lupin had divided the students into smaller groups, making sure that each group he sent had at least one member of the DA and one Auror or Order member with them as they Portkeyed to the Station. Harry saw Lupin discreetly squeeze the pink haired Auror Nymphadora Tonks' hand and give her a quick sideways glance as she left with Dean Thomas and a batch of second years. He gave Lupin a lopsided grin.

"Things going well with the two of you, then?"

Lupin cleared his throat, attempting to maintain his professorial air. "Yes, thank you."

Finally, Harry saw Draco, Kingsley, and two third years off, and only Lupin, Ron, Hermione, and Harry were left. Harry looked out over the battlefield that had been so serene an hour before. So strange that something as mundane as a train ride could be changed so quickly. Lupin held up one last playing card, and had Ron put a hand on his shoulder.

"Wait, what about Hermione?" asked Harry. She still hadn't woken up, and Harry wasn't about to leave her behind.

"Pick her up," said Ron. He was giving Harry a goofy smile.

"Oh…right. Good idea," said Harry. He gingerly picked Hermione up, trying not to put any more pressure on her injured leg than necessary, and tucked her to his chest like he'd wanted to since she'd fainted. Then, as Lupin put his hand on his shoulder, he felt the card pressed on his shoulder under Lupin's palm. He was about to ask why Ron was grinning at him like he was, when he felt the tug around his navel, and the world spun violently. Automatically he clutched Hermione tighter, her face pressing against his neck.

When Harry's feet hit the ground he managed to keep his balance and Hermione in his arms. The first thing he heard was Hagrid's booming voice; though, tonight, Hagrid's voice was not the cheery, welcoming boom that Harry was used to. Instead, Hagrid sounded distressed.

"Firs' years! This way, quick! No lollygaggin' now, onto the boats!"

Harry waved over at Hagrid, who gave him a quick nod, and then got back to shuttling the first years onto the boats.

"Harry, you've got to be exhausted, c'mon you take one side and I'll get her other." said Ron, motioning to Hermione. Harry hesitated, relishing her being so close, but knew he'd never make it to the carriages. Gently he shifted her so Ron could move under the arm not around Harry's neck. Their height kept her feet from dragging, but Harry kept an eye her splinted leg. Harry saw again the unsavory black-winged thestrals, who pulled the carriages. They were invisible to anyone who had not seen someone die, and Harry knew he would see them for the rest of his life. _I've seen enough people die now to see them twice over_. Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore. _How many more would die before this is over?_ Ron bumped his hip into Hermione's which bumped hers into Harry's pulling him from his morbid thoughts. "You first, Harry." Harry nodded before taking Hermione's shoulders and backing into the carriage. He sat quickly, then helped Ron guide her onto a seat, her leg stretched along the cushion. As they gently settled her so she wasn't twisted, her head fell onto Harry's shoulder. Again, Ron grinned lopsidedly at Harry.

"What?" asked Harry, annoyed.

"Huh? Oh…Nothing," said Ron, putting his hand over his mouth.

Harry leaned his head back as the carriage began moving. His head was pounding after all that had happened. He remembered back to his first year, when any death-defying adventures made him excited. How he had been itching for adventure after meeting Fluffy the first time. Now, reflecting on everything that had happened this summer, he would happily hand his adventures off to someone else. He closed his eyes as the carriages passed by the gates of Hogwarts, silently hoping that there would be nothing else to disrupt their voyage. Sadly, he was going to be disappointed.

With a thump that shook the whole carriage, Harry was rocked out of his stupor. His eyes shot open to see Ron staring out of the window, his mouth open. He looked over to Hermione worried for her leg, and saw that she was awake, delight and relief burning brightly in his chest. She was also looking out into the night. He was about to ask how she was when a gleaming eye suddenly appeared at the window, peering into their cabin.

"Who are you, eh? You got the password? No one gets in 'less they have the password!" Harry stuttered at the questions. He had no idea what they were looking at, much less what the password was to get into the castle. Lupin must have forgotten to mention something when he left them at the Station.

"Here!" came a cry from down the road. It was Lupin, who was running, panting and sweaty, up the road. "These three are with me! The password is…" he looked around, and Harry heard him whisper. The haughty voice replied to him.

"Alright then! These three can pass. Just make sure you don't leave these little ones alone again outside of the castle! Remember, we see _everything._"

"Oh, Dearest," came a softer, soothing, female voice, "You shouldn't be so harsh. They wouldn't go anywhere without a guardian or a teacher. Look how bright they all are."

"Love, they may be bright, but they need to be _warned_. I won't have any frivolity! Not on my watch!" Lupin hurried up to the carriage window. "Don't worry. I'm sure they'll get used to you after a few days. Glad to see you're awake, Hermione!"

"Thanks…" muttered Hermione, in a dazed sort of way. She seemed to be more interested in the voices outside. Harry scooted closer, trying to get a look out her window, he chose to ignore how nice it felt to have Hermione's back pressed against his chest. Outside, he saw, were the two guards that Lupin had warned Barrie of.

On either side of the Hogwarts gates were two grand and, according to Muggles, mythical beasts. Harry had seen them in his _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, and knew he had seen their cousin before, had even ridden on one. They were Griffins. Two of them. One (the male, Harry thought, as it was larger) was haughty and strutting, ruffling the deep brown feathers that covered him from his beaked face down his neck. At his shoulders, the feathers gave way to a golden lion's body, with a pair of giant black wings attached to his back. His partner, silently peering into every coach, was slightly smaller, but her piercing eyes more than made up for the difference in size. Her feathers were a deep lavender, and her sleek, muscular body was the darkest crimson. Harry turned to Lupin.

"Griffins?"

"The best guards in the world. Usually, you find them guarding treasures in Greece or the Middle East. We got them from a wizard Athens, bred especially for us. The little one is Zephyra. The larger one is Ajax." Lupin smiled. "Just don't cross them, and you'll be fine. Now, I'm sure you're wanting to get to Madame Pomfrey's, Hermione." Hermione nodded, still dazed by the sight of the marvelous new guards. Harry knew that he would have to ask Hagrid about them, the next time he saw him.

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The throng outside of Madame Pomfrey's office had died down by the time Harry, Hermione, and Ron had made it up there. It looked like all the wounds had been repaired sufficiently so that only Seamus remained, wrapped up in bandages. Harry saw Barrie still watching over him, looking hopeful.

"Hiya Harry!" he said, bounding up to the trio. "Got him up here just in time! I doona think there'll be nary a scar left when we take off the bandages. Madame Pomfrey can cure anything!" He suddenly noticed Hermione, standing, looking at him curiously. "Och, begging yer pardon, Miss! 'Tis nice to see you on your own two feet, wobbly though they are. James Barrie, at yer service. And you are?"

"Hermione…Hermione Granger." Hermione was beginning to tip forward, her leg having taken her about as far as it was going to. Barrie caught her as Ron and Harry reached for her arms to steady her.

"Whoops, I guess that's the sign to call the professionals! Miss Pomfrey, got one more for ya!"

Madame Pomfrey came bustling over, tutting. "Hello dear. Come on, onto the bed with you!" She gingerly took off the splint, and Harry saw Hermione wince. He sat and put his hand in hers. He felt her squeeze it back.

"Thanks," she whispered.

"Don't mention it," said Harry, feeling flush. He heard Ron sniggering behind his back, and realized that Barrie was holding back laughter too. Hermione let go of Harry's hand, to his surprising disappointment, and looked at the young medi-wizard.

"Barrie. James Barrie…." She grinned slightly, as Madame Pomfrey rubbed a special solvent onto her broken leg. "I don't suppose there's any relation…" Barrie laughed.

"I'm just glad me ma wouldn't let me da name me Peter Pan! 'Tis bad enough I can't grow a beard to save me life. So, ya've heard of my great grandfather, eh? Poor bugger. He was the only Muggle in a long line of wizards. You'd be surprised how many of the great writers are the lone Muggles of their families; Tolkein, Lewis, even Poe and Hawthorne over in America. 'Course, there is that new lady here in Britain too. Writing about wizard schools. Daft that one, getting all sorts of details wrong…"

"There we are dear!" cried Madame Pomfrey, gently wiping the liquid off Hermione's leg with a small rag. Harry had a brief wish to be the rag, but stamped it down. "You're free to go down to the feast, only be careful with walking on that leg for the next few minutes. Oh, and be sure to tell Miss Brown that she can come up and visit Mr. Finnegan any time tomorrow, as long as she doesn't come during classes." Harry nodded, and after carefully watching Hermione's first few steps, he and Ron followed her to the door. Barrie walked with them.

"Reckon I'll take a look at the Great Hall. Haven't seen it in ages. Mind you, guess I'm lucky to see it at all! Those two Griffins nearly took me head off before I gave 'em the password!"

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As the trio, plus Barrie, entered the Great Hall, the first thing Harry saw was Professor Flitwick bringing the Sorting Hat to the front of the room. The three of them hurried toward three empty seats in the middle of the Gryffindor table, Barrie having moved toward an empty seat at the Head Table. Just as Hermione slowly maneuvered her bruised leg over the bench seat and under the table, the familiar rip opened up near the top of the hat, and it began to sing:

_Oh do not fear, young travelers, for I shall do no harm,_

_I may be old and talking, but should cause you no alarm._

_The world outside this hall is cold, and filled with much perdition_

_But in this place will friendship brew, and talk of great tradition_

_For all our founders wished it so, and planned for darkest days,_

_By setting me to live and speak, and warn of evil ways._

_Through magic you are all entwined, with strength, most soundly tested_

_Through your determination only can these bonds be truly nested_

_For though there be the houses four, you should not cast more doubt_

_On others who find home within the houses spread without._

_I shall not speak of history, though daring it may be, _

_But give a word of warning to all students list'ning to me._

_Be good to one another, be trusting and be kind_

_For even among enemies, true friends I think you'll find._

_You've heard me talk, you've heard my moral, you've heard my warnings dire_

_So go now, youth and let your hearts rekindle ancient fire._

The students applauded politely when it was finished, but Harry could tell he wasn't the only one put off by the serious tone of the Hat's song this year. Usually, it told the history of the Hogwarts founders, and how it was going to sort the students. This year, it seemed focused solely on the idea of unity. It was still too much of a novelty, being friends with Draco. He didn't know if he could accept the whole of Slytherin yet. He caught Ron's eye, who shrugged non-committedly. Hermione muttered "We've got to try."

Then, at the front table, Professor McGonagall stood. It seemed to Harry that she was a puzzle piece, trying to fit into a space far bigger than herself. She held up the scroll with the names of the new Hogwarts students, and began to read:

"Anderson, Matilda!"

A bouncy young girl with a jubilant smile ran up to the Sorting Hat, and crammed it down on her head. The hat made what sounded to Harry like a chuckle, and yelled out "GRYFFINDOR!"

Another call, this time for "Barnes, Kristina!" A sullen faced young girl with a sour expression came up, and stuffed the hat onto her head. The hat barely had time to twist itself around on her head into a more comfortable position before exclaiming "SLYTHERIN!"

And so it went the tradition now as familiar to Harry as the days of the week. He listened to the names being called with only half an ear, his mind on the new changes this year, and the fact that this would be his last Welcoming Feast. It was impossible to think of a life outside of Hogwarts. Of course, it was also impossible to think of a life without Albus Dumbledore, and yet here it was. Harry sighed, wondering where this new year would take him, and if he'd be there for the End of Term Feast.

The sorting took less time than usual, as fewer families allowed their children to come to Hogwarts this year, since Voldemort was now actively working against the school. Professor McGonagall raised her arms again, asking for quiet.

"Before we begin our start of term banquet, I have a few announcements. First, you all will have noticed our new guards this year as you came in. Anyone interested in finding out more about these magnificent creatures are instructed to talk to our groundskeeper and Care of Magical Creatures Teacher, Rubeus Hagrid. But for now, know only this; they are not to be tested, nor trifled with. They are here for your protection, and will defend you to the best of their ability. But they do not take kindly to people trying to sneak by them, whether they are trying to get in or out. Let this be a warning to all students, both new-" she said, casting a look at a trembling first year, "And Old." Her eyes fixed on Harry, Hermione, and Ron before skimming over the other members of the DA scattered throughout the Great Hall. Harry notice she even latched onto Draco, though the look she gave him was decidedly colder.

"Also, I have been pleasantly reminded by Mr. Filch that his list of restricted devices and implements has been updated to include any and all new Weasley's Wizard Wheezes devices, and that any use of them will be grounds for detention."

"On a lighter note, I am proud to introduce, and to some of you, re-introduce, our newest Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Remus Lupin!"

The applause from the Gryffidor table was tumultuous, as Lupin rose out of his seat, and gave a small, embarrassed wave. The Slytherin table was more subdued, but only one lone howl emanated, and was quickly stifled. Harry glanced over to see who had done it, and was surprised to see that Draco Malfoy had his hand clasped firmly over the mouth of the young student, Malone, that he had been speaking to on the train. Draco looked livid at the boy as he hissed angrily in his ear. Harry waited for Draco's eyes to meet his own before giving him a small thumbs up, then returned his attention to McGonagall.

"Professor Lupin will also be taking my place as the Head of Gryffindor House, and I'm sure he will perform admirably! Now, as I'm sure a few of you are aware, Professor Lupin has a condition that makes him unable to teach for a few days out of every month. During that time, I have been informed by Professor Lupin that Harry Potter will be teaching in his stead."

The whole of the Great Hall turned silently to Harry, who looked around, bewildered. Apparently, Lupin had forgotten to mention this to him! Harry'd offered to _help _him, to be sure, but he did not mean that he was willing to take over class while Lupin was in his wolf form! Harry suddenly felt two pairs of hands hoisting him up out of his seat. Ron and Hermione were forcing him to stand up. He stood, gave a brief wave of his wand, which ended up accidentally spilling a goblet of pumpkin juice, and dropped quickly back into his seat.

"Why didn't he tell _me?_" muttered Harry, his head low, an embarrassed flush coloring his cheeks.

"Simple," smiled Hermione, leaning close to catch Harry's eye. "If he didn't tell you, you couldn't say no!"

"And now," said Professor McGonagall, "Let the feast begin!"

And the plates filled once more with all of the foods that Harry had come to love during his time at Hogwarts.

The conversation was generally jovial during the feast, except when Lavender asked them for news about Seamus. Harry informed her that he would be fine, and that she could go and see him any time she wanted. Lavender smiled, and discreetly wiped a tear from her eye.

"Maybe after the feast, if there's time."

"Mr. Potter, Miss Granger? I would like a word." Harry turned to see Professor McGonagall standing behind them a stern look on her face. He and Hermione moved to stand, Ron standing quickly with them. "No, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter and Miss Granger are needed, not you. This is for the Head Boy and Head Girl." Ron dropped back onto the bench with a markedly relieved look on his face. He flashed his friend a grin before starting in on his third helping. They both chuckled before following McGonagall up to the teacher's table. She skirted around to the far side of the Great Hall and Professor Lupin met them in a small alcove.

"Since you two are from the same house, there will only be one Head Room." Professor Lupin began.

"Head what?" said Harry. Hermione however nodded her head shifting toward Harry as she spoke.

"Each Head Boy and Girl gets their own room as a special gift for being elected. As far as I can tell, they are rather like the Room of Requirement, adding themselves wherever they are needed. But I suppose that our Head Room will have a door somewhere off the Gryffindor Common Room. Right, Professor?"

"Yes," said Lupin, smiling at Hermione's answer, which Harry was positive came right out of _Hogwarts, a History._ "Now, there is a password to get into the Head Room, which in Gryffindor Tower can be found beside the fireplace in the Common Room."

"But there's not enough room! Behind that wall is nothing but thin air!' said Harry.

"Unless we need a Head Room to be there, right?" said Hermione, smiling again.

"Correct," said Lupin again smiling. "Now, the password to get into the Head Room this year is _Exercitus_. Latin for Army. I thought it was strangely fitting for the two of you. Now, keep this password a secret, from everyone except perhaps Mr. Weasley. Even if he has the password, only you two will be allowed to invite anyone into your rooms."

"Rooms?" said Harry. "I thought you said there was only _one_ Head Room." Harry heard Hermione snigger behind her hand. McGonagall, however, looked suddenly strict.

"No, Mr. Potter, I assure you that _each _of you will have separate bedrooms. However, there will be one shared Common Room between the two of you."

"Well, alright then!" said Harry, trying to sound like this was all routine, but silently enthused with the idea of his own room, his own suite, only to be shared with Hermione. _And Ron, of course_, he hastily added, uncomfortable in his own mind over where it seemed to be going lately concerning his _friend_ Hermione. "Is that all?"

"Not quite." McGonagoll put a hand in her robes. "I'd like you to go around to all the other Prefects, and give them the passwords for each of their houses." She handed them each small strips of paper with the house names written on them. "Only you two and the Prefects will be able to see the passwords, and they will give them out to the students in their houses."

Harry nodded and took the passwords. As he turned however, Professor McGonagall caught his arm.

"I know I don't need to stress upon you the importance of this coming year, and that we do not fail in our endeavors. Therefore, good luck, Mr. Potter. And to you as well, Miss Granger. Keep a sharp eye out for trouble, and make sure you work extra hard this year, both in and out of classes."

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Harry and Hermione finally saw the last of the students off to their beds in Gryffindor Tower, and it was finally only them and Ron who were left in the Common Room.

"Don't know what I'm going to do without you in our room, Harry. No one will be there to wake us all up with portents of doom and vicious dreams of snakes and murder."

"I know, Ron. And how can I sleep without you snoring like a chainsaw only a few feet away? It's become such a soothing lullaby for me the past few years."

Hermione rolled her eyes at the two boys. "Honestly, you'd think _one_ of you would have grown up by seventh year! Come on Harry, I want to get to sleep."

"Fine!" Said Ron, his brow furrowed in mock indignation. "Just leave me here all by myself! _I_ know how to get back up to my room!"

"Sounds like a good idea to me, Ron. Thanks for the permission." Said Harry, grinning.

"I've bet you've got a _lot _of good ideas, with your new room," said Ron, smirking at Harry as he walked up the spiral staircase. "You two be good now…"

"Boys…" muttered Hermione, but Harry was sure he caught a glint of something other than anger in her eye.

"Well, shall we," said Harry, holding out his arm. Hermione laughed and walked over to the painting to the right of the Gryffindor fireplace. Harry still didn't know how they were going to fit the entire Head Room into the foot of rock that separated the Common Room from the outside.

The painting depicted the Four Founders of Hogwarts, all facing each other with their wands alight. Harry and Hermione both put their hands onto the rough, ancient canvas.

"Together?" said Harry. Hermione nodded.

"_Exercitus." _They both intoned, their heads close together, their hands almost brushing on the canvas.

Suddenly, the four wands of the founders in the painting met, and a brilliant keyhole appeared in the middle of them. The keyhole spewed light into the dimly lit Common Room. There was a click, and the painting (along with the entire wall it rested on) swung inward to allow them entrance.

Harry couldn't believe it. Where there should have been a 300 foot drop into open air, there was instead a brightly lit room, about a quarter of the size of the Common Room they had just exited. Inside, a bright fire from the far wall illuminated two large and comfortable looking couches, separated by a thick, antique coffee table. And, on the two side walls…

"Look at all the books, we've got Harry!" cried Hermione, in ecstasy as she rushed to the bookshelves. "There's my own copy of _Hogwarts: A History_! Finally! And look, _Defensive Spells for the Terminally Vindictive._ Ooooooh, there are so many to choose from! Quidditch books, books on the Science of Alchemy and Numerology! It's like the room knew what we wanted to read!"

"It even gave us some Muggle books…Jane Austen. Must be yours, Hermione."

"Yes, it is, thank you. And here's Robin Hood. I think you'd like it. They even have hardcover _Peter Pan!_ Barrie would love it!"

Harry was scanning through the books when a strange one caught his eye. On the front was a strong shirtless man with a vapid expression, his long blonde hair blowing in the wind. To Harry, it looked like someone had buffed up Lucius Malfoy. In his arms, was a swooning damsel, her dress falling evocatively off one shoulder. To Harry, she looked like the thousands of Hollywood starlets who never made it. The title proclaimed the book to be _Carnal Innocence,_ by Nora Roberts. Harry sighed.

"Hermione, did the room put this one in here for you?" Hermione looked at the title and blushed.

"Well…well yes, as a matter of fact. I happen to have read a few romantic fictions in my day."

"Yeah, but stuff like _this?_ I would've thought more along the lines of _Romeo and Juliet…_" Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Not every romance can be _Shakespeare_, Harry. Honestly." Then, mostly to stop Harry from sniggering, Hermione left the bookshelf and continued her tour of their new lodgings. The wall curved a bit after the fireplace, leading to two separate rooms. Harry and Hermione entered the first one to find a King-sized bed, covered with a Golden Snitch pattern comforter. Along the walls were pictures that apparently had been donated by Colin Creevy, showing the trio in various poses around Hogwarts. Harry admired a few of the pictures quietly. He'd have to thank Colin sometime; he was becoming quite the photographer.

"Oh, this has to be your room," said Hermione, rolling her eyes once more. "You boys and your Quidditch."

"Well, what's your comforter then? A massive spread with Fabio on it?" This earned Harry two well-thrown punches to the shoulder. "Guess that's a yes," he chuckled.

"Oh, I wonder what's through here?" said Hermione, opening a side door in Harry's room. Inside, was a massive bathroom, with a deep, luxurious looking tub the size of a small swimming pool, and two golden sinks, set on opposite sides of the room. There was also a shower, closed off with an opaque swinging door, with an immense block in the middle of the wall furthest from the showerhead, perfect for sitting on. Harry whistled. The Head Room didn't skimp!

"Why…are there two sinks?" said Hermione, looking suddenly a little nervous. Harry thought he knew why, as he was pretty sure Hermione did too. In order to prove his theory, he opened up a door on the far side of the bathroom. It opened to another room with a king-sized bed. A portrait of Hermione's mother and father, along with Hermione herself, adorned one wall.

"Guess we'll be sharing a bathroom then," said Harry. Hermione was too agog at her new room to respond. Harry decided to snap her out of it.

"So, just yell when you want to take your shower. I'm useful for reaching any hard-to-clean areas…" The look on Hermione's face stopped him. First he thought she was shocked…then intrigued. Finally, her face settled on bossy.

"There will be rules, Mr. Harry James Potter. Do you understand me?" Harry was unperturbed.

"Wow…My middle name too! I must be in _serious_ trouble."

"More than you know Harry, more than you know," said Hermione. Before Harry could ask what she meant, he yawned, and realized with a start that he was exhausted. All that business on the train had wiped him out. He couldn't believe it had all been just a few hours ago. Hermione nodded, also yawning.

"Ti…ti…time for _bed,_ Harry. Sleep tight. Oh, knock before you enter the bathroom, won't you?"

Harry didn't have the energy to argue. "Sure…then I'll just barge in anyway…"

"It would be the manly and impulsive thing to do,"said Hermione. Then, without warning, she pulled Harry into a hug.

"I haven't gotten a chance to properly thank you for earlier tonight," she said. Harry suddenly felt dizzy. The room was suddenly much too small, much too full of soft brown hair and Hermione's scent, his arms too full of a lithe and curvy body for him to be expected to breathe. Hermione shifted to her tip-toes, the front of her body brushing along the front of his, and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek, her arms still wrapped loosely around him.

"Thank you," she said. Harry was, at first, too breathless to speak.

"Don't mention it," he finally managed. He felt the sudden need to get some space between them, for both their sakes, so he gave another huge yawn (this time on purpose) and pulled away from Hermione's embrace.

"Time for bed," he said lamely. "Goodnight, Hermione." Hermione was staring at him; something about her eyes seemed different to Harry. When she spoke, it was in a voice that sounded almost afraid.

"Goodnight, Harry."

And with that, he turned and closed the door, walking through the bathroom to the relative safety of his own room.

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Up in the seventh year boy's room, Ron was couldn't help but laugh into his pillow. His two best friends were falling for each other, and neither of them had any idea it was happening! He thought about Harry's face when they were in Great Hall, how the two of them bickered and argued. _Just like Hermione and I used to, _he thought, but he also saw how they thought of each other first, how easily they could slip into a discussion of anything. _Less like Hermione and I, but better for them._ Ron turned over, grinning up at the ceiling. In spite of counting himself as neither a connoisseur of the romantic, nor one of its biggest fans, he had to admit it.

Harry and Hermione made a cute couple.

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If at all possible, another chapter soon. Keep reading, por favor!


	13. Chapter 13

I own neither Harry Potter. Also, I forgot to thank her last time! Crap! Much thanks to M, for making this stuff legible and enjoyable!

Chapter 13: Only the First Day

The dawn light streaming through the window woke Harry the next morning, but he simply closed his eyes and rolled over to the darker side of his bed. It was much too early, and he was far too comfortable for it to be morning already, and if he was going to be Head Boy, then he was going take advantage of the perks. And this bed was one of the best perks he had ever had… Suddenly bits of his dream during the night flashed through his mind stealing his breath and moving the sheets covering his lower half. He remembered hot breath, streaming out of even hotter lips, lips so hot they burned his own. He had the vague recollection of a soft, melodious voice, letting him know the she loved him, that he would always be hers, and that she wanted to be with him more than anything at that second. He remembered the soft curves of her outline under the sheets, smooth and delicate as a flower petal; but one hundred times more beautiful…

Harry opened one bleary eye, groaning. _Crap, now that's gonna be in my head all bloody day._ As he shifted to his side, he felt…something. Something soft, tickling his nose. At first he thought a feather had gotten loose from one of his pillows, but it was too long and too thick. And much, much too soft. Harry's other eye opened, and was greeted by the sight of a river of amber curls across the pillow next to him. He let his eyes trail downwards, and saw the curls drop like a curtain, revealing a smooth shoulder that led to a smooth naked back. The skin was pale, pale and perfect.

Harry allowed himself to take in the unadulterated view of all that perfect luminescent skin, allowed his eyes to follow the line of her backbone, move over the dip of her waist, until it disappeared beneath the sheets. He realized two things: She was _beautiful_, and this was the woman from his dream. He would know that skin, that back, those soft curves anywhere.

The sheets twisted, and Harry saw her. Smiling at him. Her breath warmed his cheek as she leaned in to whisper "Good morning." He smiled back.

"Good morning, Hermione."

"I can see why you'd still be asleep, you must be exhausted after the night we had last night."

"I know," said Harry. "The train was…"

"Not the train," said Hermione, grinning, "What happened after the train. Oh, Harry, I've been dreaming of you for so long. For that dream to come true like it did last night…I can't believe it's possible." She shook her head slightly, her hair moving across his arm and raising goosebumps.

Harry shifted forward, not caring that he'd gone to bed alone and woken up with Hermione, just surprisingly happy he had. And with an inexpressible joy, he pressed his lips to hers with a sweet, soft pressure that felt like heaven. "What, Hermione?" He said as they broke apart. "What can't you believe is possible?"

"THAT YOU CAN SLEEP SO LATE ON THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL! Honestly, Harry, if I have to tell you to wake up ONE more time, I'm going down to breakfast by myself, and YOU can explain it to Professor McGonagall!"

Harry's eyes shot open. The bed next to him was empty, and obviously had been the whole night. Harry noticed drool marks along the pillow. Apparently, he had been kissing it during the night. _Think I'll keep that to myself,_ he thought, flipping it over.

"All right, _all right_, I'm UP, you mad witch!" Harry sat up quickly, placing the pillow in his lap as he tried to see through the thick sunlight streaming in. Hermione was pacing around his room, throwing open curtains and fully dressed in her school uniform. Harry looked at his watch, hanging halfway off the table next to his bed. He had 10 minutes to get downstairs before breakfast started, and they had to hand out the class schedules. Harry groaned. He was _not_ going to get used to this routine in a hurry, he was sure of that much.

"WELL? Are you UP yet?" snapped Hermione, picking up Harry's other pillow and tossing it at him. She looked down, and noticed that the pillow she had thrown had left drool along her hand.

"Ewwww!" she yelled, wiping her hand on the hem of her robes. "Ugh! Five minutes, Harry. Then I'm leaving, whether you're ready or not!"

The door slammed shut.

"You're a lot NICER in my DREAMS!" yelled Harry. _Just as beautiful though_, he thought as he worked his way out of his bed and into his uniform.

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Breakfast that morning was a cordial affair, and when Harry marched over to the Gryffindor table, he found Ron explaining the appearing and disappearing food to one of the new first years. He remembered her name being Matilda Anderson.

"And then, there are loads of house elves under the Great Hall, down in the kitchen. And when they see that its time to bring the plates down, they just disappear off the tables here!"

"Wow…" said Matilda, her eyes wide. "Do they get paid for doing all of this? My mum showed me Wizard's Money, but she didn't say anything about pay per hour. Is it a Galleon?"

"They don't see a Knut!' said Ron, smiling. "And don't you try to go and pay them either. House Elves see it as the gravest insult if you try and pay 'em. It really is one of the greatest…" Ron's voice died. Hermione had been standing behind him for the past few seconds, without his knowledge.

"One of the greatest mishandlings of magical creatures since…since…eh. Morning, Hermione!" Ron flashed what he must have thought was a debonair grin, but the fear in his eyes gave his true intentions away.

"Hmmmmmm…Nice try, Ron," said Hermione, taking a seat next to him. Harry patted his friend on the shoulder.

"Got to start working on those eyes in the back of your head, mate." Offered Harry.

"Bollocks! Ruddy girls. Need to tie a bell around their necks," muttered Ron, dodging a bit of scrambled egg that Hermione tossed at him. Then, he noticed his new schedule. "Double potions, with the Slytherins, of course," he said, running his finger down the page. "Got Charms, Transfiguration, and Double Defense Against the Dark Arts!"

"Great," said Harry. "I wonder how I'm going to be able to fill a double session when Lupin is away."

"I'm sure you can do it, Harry," said Hermione reassuringly, as she put her hand on his arm. "You might be able to use some of your DA lessons over again, if you run into a tight spot." Harry groaned. Thoughts of the DA squelched down any of the pleasant visions from his dream that Hermione's hand had brought to his mind. Unfortunately, the euphoria couldn't last. He had forgotten he had the DA as well. With that, being Head Boy and Quidditch on his plate, he reckoned he'd be lucky to get any rest or relaxation time this year, let alone his homework done. The thought was just a bit depressing. Ron patted him on the back.

"Just learn to do without! I've heard of 7th years who've learned to keep themselves up for weeks. Has something to do with thumb screws. I bet we'll need them to keep studying once the N.E.W.T.'s start."

This time, both Harry and Hermione groaned. N.E.W.T.'s, or Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests, took place in the seventh year, and as Harry knew quite well, were essential in determining the future of graduating wizards.

"You don't suppose that you could nick another Time Turner?" said Harry, turning to Hermione, their shoulder brushing as they unconsciously shifted closer to each other. She shook her head.

"Might as well succumb to the unavoidable," said Ron, putting his hands out in front of him, as if to invite shackles. "Let the day begin!"

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The day officially began with a long trudge through the wet fields and into the greenhouses, where Professor Sprout stood waiting. As the class drew close, she pushed her seemingly mandatory strand of flyaway hair back and out of her eyes, and held up a branch with thick strands of greenish-grey moss on it.

"Settle down there," she began, and the room fell silent. As they would be dealing with higher level spells this year, Harry knew that instructions would require extra care and attention. "Now, who can tell me what this is?"

Hermione's hand shot up so quickly that it clipped Ron's funny bone, making him wince.

"Spanish Moss," said Hermione, her voice assuming the fascinated tone it always took whenever knowledge was at hand. "It's mostly found in the Western Hemisphere along coastal Virginia all the way to Argentina, since it is a sub-tropical plant."

"Yes, so be very careful this morning, as we don't have a great amount. 10 points to Gryffindor, by the way." Hermione beamed. "Spanish moss is also known as 'Pele's Hair', in reference to the South Pacific goddess it came to represent. No matter the name though, it has been shown to have marvelous magical tendencies. Can anyone tell me what they…Yes. Yes, Ms. Granger."

Hermione's other hand shot like a rocket into the air so quickly that Neville jumped back in fright. "Well, the plant has always been familiarized with depression, with people believing that the moss was the hair of a Spanish woman who committed suicide in the Southern United States. But in reality, it's a natural opiate, used for dreamless sleep and calming drafts."

"Very, very good, Ms. Granger. Another 10 points for the history!" Harry and Ron smirked at Hermione, who was beaming and blushing at the same time, making her face look like it had a very shiny sunburn.

"For the rest of class, please take apart the strands that make up the locks of Spanish Moss, but please be very careful with them, as they have a tendency to cause slight drowsiness if inhaled, and I daresay that no one has ever found it necessary to sleep in my class!" roared Professor Sprout to the general agreement of the class. Harry, Ron, and Hermione teamed up, but before they could begin carefully pulling apart long strands of moss, and cutting the to the same length with their shears Ron moved so that Harry was standing next to Hermione, mumbling something about glare in his eyes. Harry caught what he thought was a small smirk, but chose to leave it alone and be happy for his good fortune. If the air in the class shifted just right he could catch a scent of her as she stood next to him.

"So, Harry," said Ron, once every one was sufficiently engrossed in their moss, "Quidditch tryouts this week. Whaddaya reckon?" Harry grinned. He knew Ron had been missing the Quidditch practices and games as much as he had. And this year, there seemed to be a general lack of real animosity between the houses. Harry hoped that Quidditch would actually be _fun _against the Slytherins this year, instead of a full-scale battle.

"Definitely!" said Harry. "I say we put up the sign tomorrow, and see how many sign up. Tryouts Friday, I'd say. You think you can keep your broom in its place 'til then?"

Ron snorted at this, accidentally inhaling a few strands of moss, and fell instantly to the floor, unconscious. "What did I tell you about Spanish Moss!?" cried Professor Sprout, before she levitated Ron out the door, muttering about the hospital wing. Both Harry and Hermione laughed, and went back to work on the green plant. Hermione had been unraveling her moss pensively for a minute when she turned to Harry and said matter-of-factly, "I suppose it'll be difficult to find someone to replace Ginny."

Harry was momentarily taken aback. "Well, I don't suppose anyone could ever replace Ginny…" He waited for the pain of Ginny's loss and the guilt from his feelings for Hermione to slam into his chest, but instead there was a small pang in his heart, and no twisting of guilt in his gut. Something he'd have to think about later.

"No…I meant on the Quidditch Pitch," said Hermione, tensely. She hadn't meant for the conversation to go that way, Harry guessed. He tried to lighten up the situation.

"Oh, right. Suppose it will be hard to replace her out there. Why? You keen on joining the team? Of course, after what happened the last time you were on a broom, I wouldn't be itching to go flying if I were you."

"Actually," said Hermione, "Even thought I don't know if I'll ever be able to fly in a Quidditch game, my last broom ride did teach me one thing: I need to learn how to ride." Harry nodded, only half-listening as he struggled to unwind the spindly vines of moss.

"Do you think you could teach me?"

Harry's hands fumbled and he fought to keep his eyes focused on the moss. Him…teaching Hermione? The idea almost frightened him. _How am I supposed to teach the smartest girl in class?_ But then, wild and thrilling visions of himself and Hermione, out, alone, on romantic flights across the Hogwarts grounds began to dance behind his eyes, making his logical thinking mechanics go into a state of lust induced disarray.

"Well, yeah…I _could._" Harry took a deep breath, schooling his eyes before he looked up at her. "Don't know how good of a student you'd be…top grades in the class and all that." He smirked hoping she wouldn't notice his slight blush. "And of course, there is the matter of payment." He tossed that out cheekily, bumping her shoulder with his and giving her what he hoped was a playful look.

"Payment?" said Hermione, and Harry thought he saw coyness in her eyes. _Are we flirting? Is _she_ flirting?_ The idea made him almost giddy.

"Uh, yeah! Teaching a total amateur like you how to fly, I'd better be getting something back for it!" He laughed as she punched him lightly on the arm.

"And just what sort of payment did you have in mind, Harry?" asked Hermione, her eyebrow cocked dangerously even as she smiled up at him.

Harry was spared the problem of coming up with a good answer by James Barrie, who trudged through the door, looking serene.

"Och! Yah nevah miss that smell! G'day, class. I just saw Professor Sprout floating a gangly load of boy up to the hospital wing, and asked me to look in on the lot of ya. So…Spanish Moss, eh? No wonder the boyo was snoring like he hadn't slept in month!"

"No," chuckled Harry. "He always sounds like that."

Barrie turned and grinned. "That right, now? Well then I'm sure a few minutes sleep won't hurt his constitution that much, will it then?"

Barrie spent the next few minutes looking over people's shoulders, checking on their work. He was especially proud of Neville, and made sure to tell him how much promise he showed.

"I was a bit of a Green Thumb meself, back in the day. 'Tis how I got into medicine. You should consider it, Nev."

"I have," said Neville, looking pleased to be so complimented. "You see, I think some of the plants we use could be used for other reasons too. Like for helping cure people who've…Who've lost their minds." Neville's face suddenly became downtrodden, and Harry was sadly reminded of the time he had met Neville's parents, who had been tortured into insanity by Death Eaters. Harry knew that if there was one purpose that Neville truly had down in his heart, it was being able to have a real conversation with his parents again. Harry sometimes wondered if deep down, that was his goal too.

Barrie sadly nodded his head. "There could be a cure in these plants, that's as true as anything. But you need to be careful, don't you, boyo? There's more to using plants than cutting them and eating the roots. What you're dealing with there is a livin' thing, as livin' as you or I. You need to treat them with respect, because each time you cut short the life of a weed, you are making a promise. You are taking the potential of that life, and saying, 'I'm gonna make something from ya. You'll be someone's new arm or leg one day soon. I'll be able to breathe under the water, to see what lives down there in the deepest depths. Or maybe, you'll be givin' new life to someone who has lost theirs." Barrie turned, and saw Hermione slowly unraveling the strands of Spanish Moss, not really focusing on what she was doing anymore.

"A bit o' Mandrake gave you a new lease on this life, dinna, lass?"

Hermione nodded.

"Well then, make sure you honor the life that gave yours back. Make it live to the fullest. Otherwise, you'll have a lot to answer for when your life…is up." Hermione stared at him a moment before nodding her head just a fraction.

The class had grown silent. Harry felt that Barrie was being a tad melodramatic, and wanted to see that coy smile on Hermione's face, but what he was saying had merit and the melodrama probably came with the territory of being the ancestor of such an eccentric author. Off in the distance, the bell tolled.

"Och! Who knows where the time goes? Off to your next class with ya now! Doona be late!"

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Ron was able to return in time for an eventful transfiguration lesson; Professor McGonagall began to teach them large-scale transfiguration. Harry knew that several of his classmates had been waiting for this since they saw their teacher turn her desk into a large pig back in their first year. But, as he knew it would, this lesson depended on them taking copious notes and long days full of trial and error. Hermione had been the only one able to turn her footstool into a beagle before the bell rang, and so the rest of the class was given massive amounts of homework.

"Two rolls of parchment by Wednesday!" croaked Ron, as the class made their way to lunch. "How am I supposed to transfigure something if I can't grip my wand after all that writing?" Harry nodded morosely.

"Oh, honestly, you two. If you had just studied a little harder, you could've at least gotten to the dog stage. You can't stay on changing things into mice forever!" Harry grimaced.

"But did you have to train it too, Hermione? You make the rest of us all look like dolts!"

"Sometimes, the rest of you are…Ohhhh." Hermione had just opened the door to the Great Hall, and nearly backed into the pair of whining boys at the sight awaiting them. Hagrid was standing at the door, with Ajax at his side, muttering in his ear. Zephyra was busy going up to each student, and looking deeply into their eyes. Harry felt a twinge of unease. _What are they up to?_

Hagrid waved his arms over to the trio, and they bustled over to him. "Don't worry, you three! Ajax and Zephyra here just want to meet everyone."

Harry wasn't sure if he liked the guards "meeting" him, since they already had to stop for them last night.

"Once they get a look into your eyes," said Hagrid, "They can tell if you're lyin' or not. Can't get past them if you get asked a straight question and are dishonest! And Zephyra…Well, the females have one of the best noses ever. Can smell you coming, even under an Invisibility Cloak…" He glanced surreptitiously, for Hagrid, at Harry.

"Not that any of us have one!" piped Ron, looking guilty. Harry thought it was a poor attempt at lying, and apparently, so did the Griffons.

"Who has it?" demanded Ajax. "Invisibility Cloaks are NOT authorized material, and I will NOT have unauthorized material under my watch! No, sir! You students have gotten away with too much already, and I tell you it stops TODAY!"

"Oh, dearest," muttered Zephyra soothingly. "You've got to give them a little space. Really, we can see people moving in Invisibility Cloaks anyway. We don't have to confiscate them."

"Love, you have the sweetest heart ever hatched from a brood, but if we did things your way, the whole bloody SYSTEM would fall apart!" Ajax went off, muttering gruffly in his mate's ear, with her talking soothingly back in hushed tones.

"Don' worry," muttered Hagrid to Ron, who was looking visibly shaken. "Zephyra will calm him down. Always has. He's all right, mind, just a tad overzealous when it comes to his job. Course, its what to be expected from a fellow who's main job before this was guarding treasure out in the Sahara."

"So, he sees us all as treasure?" said Hermione.

"Not quite," said Hagrid, and he seemed genuinely happy to be "teaching" the group again. "Griffons who guard children or, well…I suppose you three can't be rightly called children no more…Time sure rushes on by, don' it….well anyways, Griffons don't see you all as diamonds, or jewels, or anything else to protect like that. See, treasure can be taken, without any harm coming to it. A person, specially a younger person, who gets snatched is likely to come off worse for the snatchin'. So these Griffons see you as their own children, not just as things to protect. You're their babies. And Ajax is just acting like an overprotective dad. Like dads usually do when their brood are in trouble…" Hagrid's eyes went over bright, and Harry knew he was thinking of his own father, who died not long after Hagrid got to Hogwarts. Hermione tried to sway him back to reality.

"You know a lot about them," she said, helpfully.

"Oh, sure." said Hagrid, rubbing one eye with his massive fist. "They're right fascinating! You know, once they get a mate, they're mates for life. One of the only creatures to do that! Other than us, o' course. But it makes them downright devoted to each other. Really beautiful creatures, eh?" Harry nodded. He liked that Hagrid's interests were satiated by beasts that were intelligent and thoughtful, instead of being driven into a frenzy by the thought of dragons or Blast-Ended Skrewts. Leaving them to their inspection, Harry, Ron, and Hermione moved to find seats at the Gryffindor table.

"We've got to go, Hagrid, but we'll come visit you down at your hut soon!" said Harry, as he turned away from the giant.

"Better tell one o' these two before you go!" said Hagrid, pointing at Ajax, who was beadily watching the newly arrived Draco Malfoy. Harry had to grin. _Not as easy to insult as Buckbeak, are they? _He thought with a vindictive grin.

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The wide expanse of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom had never fully hit Harry until this moment, when he saw it without a single desk or chair. Lupin stood at the front of the class, his wand out, and dressed in a jacket that Harry had seen before on Olympic fencers. A shiver of excitement ran up his spine as Lupin began the first class.

"Please take your wands out, all of you. This will be a very practical lesson, as will the rest of this year's. I expect nothing but your undivided attention; anything less will be very dangerous this year." He had begun pacing up and down the rows of students; Harry could hear the soft click of every footstep. No one seemed to be breathing.

"Defense. We have taught you about the creatures you will be facing. We taught you about the unforgivable curses. We have taught you everything we think you need to know out of a book. Now, I will teach you how to survive." Harry looked over at Ron and Hermione. Hermione looked a little nervous, but excited to begin. Ron had his face set in an uncharacteristically grim expression.

"Harry. Please come forward." Harry's head snapped back at Lupin's words. He wasn't sure if Lupin was about to tell him off for not paying attention. Harry could feel all of the eyes in the classroom glued to the back of his head as he strode up to the front of the class.

"Harry, I need a volunteer to demonstrate proper Wizard's Dueling, and I believe you have had experience with this?" Harry's mind flew back to the ridiculous Dueling Club, when their old Defense Teacher, the silly Gilderoy Lockhart, had been knocked off his feet by Professor Snape. He nodded, hesitantly.

"Good. Please show how a formal duel begins." Harry positioned himself about five feet away from Lupin, pulled out his wand, and gave a formal bow.

"_EXPELLIARMUS!" _cried Lupin, and Harry was thrown back so fast and so hard he saw stars when he opened his eyes. Raising his head he saw Lupin, his wand pointed at Harry's chest, and Harry's own wand held loosely at his side. He caught movement in his periphery and glanced quickly at the class. Ron seemed to be holding tightly to Hermione as she glared daggers at Lupin and fought silently against Ron, he whispered Harry's name and she focused on him. There was relief and something soft and hot in her eyes before she went back to glaring at Lupin. Rage bubbled up as Harry got to his feet. He took a deep breath and held in as much of it as he possibly could.

"How did I beat you?" asked Lupin calmly.

"_Because you cheated_." Spat Harry angrily.

"Yes, I did," replied Lupin. "I cheated. I attacked Harry when he wasn't ready. I used his proper manners to my advantage, and used the fact that I am a teacher against him." Harry wasn't sure where he was going with this, but he felt the anger subside to a low pulse in his blood.

"I did this as a warning. We are no longer in the realm of theatrics, or of niceties. When you pick up a wand and face a Death Eater, there will be no warning, no time to prepare. They will not play by the rules, so it should be obvious that you should not play by them either. So, this is your first lesson: There are no rules. Memorize it, because it may one day save your lives."

From his vantage point at the front of the class, Harry could see the rest of his fellow students. Except for Ron and Hermione, none of them were expecting this when they had entered their Defense classroom. Most were thinking they would be covering dark creatures, or learning more advanced defense out of a book. None of them expected this amount of reality, or expected to see Harry Potter downed by his favorite teacher. _Something has to be done, _thought Harry, _to show I can recover. The fight isn't over. He's just distracted by teaching. I can still win this…_

"So, as we'll be dealing with Dueling, I'll need you to divide into pairs. Pick someone you are on the same page with skill-wise; we're training right now, no need to try and kill each oth- OOF!"

In one fluid motion, Harry had squatted into a crouch, and propelled himself into Professor Lupin's legs, knocking them both sideways. Harry was hoping the surprise attack would be enough to loosen Lupin's grip on the two wands, but Lupin had enough balance to keep a firm grip on one of them. The other wand clattered off into the corner. Harry let thoughts of that wand drain from his head. He was acting on instinct alone. He knew he had to get the wand out of Lupin's hand.

Lupin rolled over and pointed his wand at Harry, but Harry was able to move past the wand, now centimeters from Lupin's face. With a swift jerk, Harry brought his knee up to connect with Lupin's stomach. Lupin groaned, and fell to the floor, wheezing. Quickly Harry scooped the wand up off the floor where Lupin had dropped it and moved out of reaching distance, wand at the ready.

"You made a mistake too, Professor. You thought the Duel was over just because you had me on the ground."

Lupin got up off the floor, brushing his trousers off and breathing heavily, a small smile on his face.

"Excellent…F-Full marks, Harry. A fight is never over until it is over. That was going to be Lesson Number Two, and as Harry showed, it flows naturally out of Lesson Number One." Harry was relieved to hear this, as he knew that if the situation had been different, he could have easily been expelled for striking a teacher.

"Now, if the class would kindly form into pairs, please," said Lupin, "We'll begin the lesson for today." Harry moved instinctively towards Ron and Hermione, and could have sworn he saw Hermione blocking Ron's path, preventing him from partnering up with Harry, when-

"Sorry, Harry. You'll be with me, since you'll be teaching." Harry nodded glumly, and turned away from his friends. A lump of lead had suddenly decided to drop heavily into his stomach.

"The first lesson for all of you is how to hold a wand while dueling. Today, I'm going to teach you the way to fence while dueling. Now, has anyone here ever taken a fencing class?" The class murmured together that they hadn't.

"Right, well, there are five main steps in fencing. Everything else is just building on these five basic moves, and they should be easy to learn, if not to master, for they are simply mirrors of one another. First, position one." Lupin drew his wand again, and demonstrated the move. It looked relatively simple to Harry. _You just draw the wand across the lower half of your body, like a bloke looking at his watch._

"For two, you just move the wand to the other side of your body. Three is at the middle of your body, bring it across. Four just brings it back to the other side of your body. And five puts the wand over your head, blocking a hit from above. Did every one see me? Good. Then get together with your partner and try it. One, two, three, four, five…"

Harry soon realized that this was a lot more difficult than it looked. He was moving his body in ways it wasn't used to, and soon he was feeling a bit cramped from all the twisting around. And it only got worse after the class had gotten the basics down, for then Lupin began shouting out the numbers as fast as Harry could move to them.

"ONE! FIVE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! ONE! FOUR! THREE! You'll need to move faster in a real fight! Come on! ONE! No, ONE, Harry! You just opened yourself up to a Killing Curse! You have to move fast! You have to move on _instict_!" _I'll give you instinct_, thought Harry, spitefully. "TWO! FOUR! FIVE! NO, HARRY!" For Harry, the lesson couldn't go fast enough. At last, the bell tolled, and the class retrieved their bags, all sweaty and sore. Harry caught Ron's eye, who shot him a thumbs up before wincing and massaging his thumb. Hermione was clutching the stitch in her side, looking sulky.

"For homework, practice these moves in front of your partner for at least twenty minutes a piece before the next class. Good work, all of you! Oh, and Harry, could I have a word?"

Harry rolled his eyes to the ceiling, wishing for the first time that Lupin would just leave him alone.

"Since you don't have a class partner, work with the book I gave you. Atherton Wing should help you with your parries. Oh, and help Ron and Hermione too."

"Yes, _sir." _Said Harry, still sulking and massaging his shoulder. He turned to leave, but Lupin caught him before he could go. He looked very tired, after all the yelling and demonstrating he had done during the class.

"You didn't like being treated like that, did you?" Said Lupin, rubbing his eyes and leaning against his desk. Harry suddenly realized the old Lupin was back, the teacher Harry had respected before. It was like the other one was a mask.

"No, professor. And I didn't like being singled out, either."

"It's because you're the best in the class at dueling, Harry. One of the best I've seen for your age and experience. Your footwork needs some help, but you're far ahead of the curve. And every time I pointed you out, the rest of the class got a first-rate tutorial from you."

Harry still felt a little sullen. "Thank you, Sir."

"Look, I'm sorry I had to be that person to all of you, to you in particular. But I had to. You can't coddle students just because you like them, and today's lesson was important. It's not going to be all fun and games this year, I'm afraid. And I had to show you in particular what this class will be like this year, since you'll be helping me teach it. I had to show you how to stand up after falling, and how to fight back. There will be no more running. For any of us."

Harry nodded. "I understand, sir."

"Good," said Lupin. "Now go join Ron and Hermione. They're waiting outside the door, trying to hear us." He banged his fist suddenly against the door, and Harry heard an "ouch" from the other side. Lupin grinned.

"Moody taught me quite a bit about observation," he said, winking.

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"I'm dying," muttered Ron, after dinner. The group was lying around the common room, splayed over chairs, with Hermione stretched out on the couch.

"I can't believe its only the first day," said Hermione, muffled by the fact that she had both of her arms flung over her face. "How will we survive a year of this?"

"At least Charms didn't go badly," muttered Harry, switching from the chair to the floor next to the couch. As he leaned back against the front of the couch, he felt his back land against Hermione's hand. He started to shift away, but Hermione caught the back of his shirt, and pulled him back toward her. Then, slowly, she began to move her hand, her deft fingers finding the knots in Harry's back. Harry couldn't move, he could barely breathe. He felt suddenly blissful. Hermione's fingers excelled at finding any knots he had in his shoulders, and eradicating them. His mouth fell open and his eyes drifted closed, as every muscle in his body began to relax…

"Harry…HARRY!"

"Huh? Whuzzuhmatter?" Apparently Ron had been talking and Harry hadn't heard a word of it. He felt Hermione's finger poke him suddenly in the back. "You need to pay better attention," she whispered conspiratorially.

"It's hard to do, what with you turning me to jelly the entire conversation," Harry whispered back. Hermione stuck her tongue out in retort.

"Guess I'll just have to stop then," she muttered airily, and got up to stretch her legs, laughing to herself at the pained look Harry shot her.

"Yours is an evil laugh," said Ron, looking confusedly over at Harry, who grinned and shrugged. "Anyway Harry," continued Ron, "I was saying I wondered what had been keeping Neville."

"No idea," said Harry, thinking back. "Wasn't he back for dinner?"

"He wasn't back at all after McGonagall pulled him out of Flitwick's class," said Hermione as she dropped back onto the couch, her leg brushing Harry's shoulder. Harry's breath caught in his throat again. "Wonder if he's forgotten the password again…"

Ron got up and walked to the portrait. He was just about to open it up when it swung inward, almost knocking Ron to the floor. As Ron steadied himself; in walked Neville. Hermione gasped. Harry had to agree with her gasp. He had never seen Neville's face look that way before. He was white as chalk, and hardly seemed to know where he was going. The hem of Neville's robe caught the last step out of the portrait, and he stumbled, falling flat on his face.

"Oh, uh, sorry," muttered Neville, scrambling back to his feet. "I get so clumsy sometimes. Just missed that last one there. What a clutz! Ha!" His laugh was strained, and Harry knew he was trying to hide something.

"Uh, Neville," said Hermione gently, "You're bleeding." Neville reached up and touched his face. His nose had started to bleed after he smacked it against the floor. Blood trickled through his fingers as he absentmindedly felt his open wound.

"Thanks…" said Neville, not bothering to stem the flow of blood. He made his way, slow and dazed, to the couch, and lowering himself slowly before sitting bolt upright. Harry looked at Ron and Hermione. They nodded, and each took a postion behind Neville, Hermione facing the Common Room, Ron twisted so he could see out the windows at their backs. _They're on defense_, thought Harry, taking the seat next to his friend. Neville jumped when Harry sat down, splattering his robes with blood. Harry took out a pocket handkerchief, and handed to him. Neville's trembling hands made their way to his nose. Harry felt as if he were sitting in front of a dam in the monsoon season. Hermione, sensing Harry's hesitation leaned forward a bit, her face softening as she looked at Neville.

"Neville, is something wrong?"

Neville gave a choked laugh, looking up at Hermione.

"They're gone."

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AHHHHHH! GRAD SCHOOL! WHY DO YOU HATE GIVING ME FREE TIME TO WRITE!!??? The next chap will be shorter, and I've gotten it all planned out, so it shouldn't take too long. Sorry for the wait!


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don't own, any of the characters from either Harry Potter, or The West Wing, which makes a cameo ;) Many thanks to my editor M, for helping me with this even when she was without power!

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Harry Potter and the Marauder's Vendetta

Chapter 14: St. Mungo's Massacre

The night shift at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was never what Margaret-Mary Wormcrest considered glamorous. Of course, it was never what she thought she would be doing with her life either. After Hogwarts, she had gotten noticed by one of the best directors of the magic stage, and knew her life would now revolve around long rehearsals and crowd-pleasing curtain calls. Her only concerns would be her lines and whether or not _The Quibbler_ got wind of her promiscuous affairs with many of her fellow actors. In _Macbeth_, she not only bedded her stage husband, but also Duncan, Banquo, the three beautiful witches, and her own understudy. In one glorious night. She knew she had found her place, her calling. At 17, Margaret-Mary saw her entire life stretch out before her, in glorious certainty.

By age 18, her certain life was dashed by the vicious attacks of both the newspapers and a rival actress. The papers hurt her reputation. The actress hexed her so violently that her nose became perpetually crooked. And although in the regular world, this would be considered a mere blemish, if it was noticed at all, in the theatre it was a death knell. And so, on a cold December morning, she had entered St. Mungo's, looking for a job, any job.

That gray and freezing morning, her life changed forever. Whenever the night shift became too much for her, Margaret-Mary thought back to that life altering morning. For it was on that morning that a young wizard swept her off of her feet. At 18, her new and more depressing life was happily dashed, as she found the man she would spend the rest of her life with. A man who spent his days wiping the floors of St. Mungo's, and felt honored to do so. The man who got her a job as the night nurse at the front desk, a position she came to love. She loved it for the people she met, and the comfort she gave and sometimes received from the many people who walked through the door of the hospital. She had whispered hundreds of thousands of prayers, comforted a hundred thousand lost souls, and laughed at the most ridiculous accidents ever to befall wizards. And through it all, she had been able to maintain a positive attitude. _Simon always used to say there wasn't a power in the universe that could stop me from being cheery,_ she thought. But how could she not be, with all of the memories working here had given her? How could she forget the man who came in with the chicken growing out of his nostril? Or the man who, after being caught cheating on his wife, stumbled in with a pair of Constricting Pants slowly tightening around his legs, Constricting Pants he was madly trying to push down around his ankles. Margaret-Mary had seen Werewolf bites, poison, curses, hexes, and pure bad luck walk or be walked through the front door.

Sighing, Margaret-Mary flipped through another page of _The Quibbler _usually kept in the waiting room. It was two months old, and she had memorized every word, and seen every face inside. But tonight, her mind was not focused on the gossip, and the nonsense about Pimple-Pussed Paralaxes. Her mind was a few hundred miles away, with Elizabeth. Elizabeth was her youngest granddaughter, the daughter of her son. She had borne five children with her Simon, and had gladly assumed the position of matriarch to her adoring family. _Simon used to tell me how much he loved to listen to me tell them all stories,_ she thought wistfully, remembering how each child fell asleep with a tiny smile on their faces. Elizabeth had just begun her first day of Hogwarts, and Margaret-Mary was awaiting the owl she had been promised, telling her what House she was in. _I would be proud of her no matter where she is, even if she comes back a Slytherin_. She was a Hufflepuff herself, and expected nothing more of her grandchildren, but really, how could she be anything but proud.

The Main Doors opened slowly, allowing in a cool breath of fresh air from the outside. _She sent the owl to Simon, and here he comes,_ she thought, hopefully. But it wasn't Simon who walked through the door. None of the men were her sainted husband. The man in front had a silver hand, alerting Margaret-Mary that she would need to contact the hexes department. The next man might have been a vampire, she thought, due to his pale skin, which looked as if it had never seen the sun. The last person to enter was hooded, his entire body was covered. _Poor dear,_ she thought. _No need to be ashamed of it. I've seen it all in my day._ She repeated her usual prayer for the injured, and sat up straight behind her desk.

"Good evening, and welcome to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and…"

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

Margaret-Mary slumped to the floor, a look of startled terror etched across her now ashen face. The wind of the killing curse swept through the corridor, and blew back the hood of the man that brought up the back of the party. It slipped past red eyes, a flat snake's nose, and a pale mouth full of pointed teeth. Lord Voldemort allowed a small smile to play across his lips.

"You can come in now, friends," he hissed, beckoning the remaining Death Eaters through the door. The Lestranges, Crabbe, Goyle, and three young women, all with matching black Mohawks sauntered into the Hospital. These three were the Dante Triplets, the daughters of one of the oldest and most influential families in Britain's Wizarding ranks. The three girls had done everything together. They had gone to school together, rebelled against their parents together, and when Morgana told her two sisters about the possibility of the Death Eaters recruiting, the girls jumped at the chance together. And now, looking at the lifeless body of the nurse, each of them, separately but together, began to have second thoughts about their course of action. Voldemort seemed to sense their hesitation, and laid a hand on Morgana's shoulder. The young girl shivered, as what felt like a slimy tarantula latched on to her body.

"She is but the first, my dears. And if you wish to join the Dark Order, you must prove yourself worthy. Bella, Bella my dear, take these three to their…Initiation." Bellatrix Lestrange chuckled icily, and led the girls down a dark corridor to the left. Voldemort motioned to her husband, Rodulphus, to head down the center corridor, and he began to move down the right corridor, with Wormtail, panting slightly, on his heels.

The first stop for the Dark Lord was the Werewolf Transformation Room. The room was comprised of several kennels (Werewolves still had not yet earned equal rights), each of which held a large wolf. All were asleep at the moment, chained to the wall by a thick chain tightened around their necks. Voldemort opened the door, and allowed it to slam closed. The slam awakened all of the werewolves held within. The recent advances in the Wolfsbane potion made it possible for the wolves to have nearly human intelligence, so Voldemort knew they could all hear him.

"My…My…My," he said, silkily. "Such a pity that you have all ended up here. You were once wizards, the cream of our glorious isle. And now…look at you. Chained to a wall like a common mongrel, like a dog, waiting to be put down. But the fools at the Ministry who have imprisoned you do not understand. They believe you to be dangerous. But you are only dangerous because your gift has made you more powerful than they are. They fear you, just as they fear me, because we are stronger than their pathetic government could ever be. They make back alley dealings with the Muggles, praying that above all, we are kept secret from them. Why should we hide, friends? The Ministry shall know our retribution. They will understand what fear truly is. And I offer you a chance to join the Death Eaters, friends. A chance to strike back at the men who have caged you for far too long! Who shall join me?"

There was silence in the kennel. Then, from a far cage, a low, ominous growl emanated from the throat of a large, black werewolf. The growl disappeared into a ferocious bark, the wolf straining to reach the Dark Lord. Voldemort sighed.

"Such a pity," he drawled, and with a wave of his wand, slammed the wolf against the wall of his cage. The wolf yelped and crumpled to the ground, dazed.

"I offered you a chance to join freely," said Voldemort. "Now, allow me to demonstrate what happens to those who turn down my generous offers…" Voldemort turned to Wormtail, who shuddered at the sight of his master. Voldemort nodded at his left hand, and Peter Pettigrew drew it out. The entire hand had been replaced by one of silver as a gift for returning Lord Voldemort to power. And now, Voldemort reached out and touched the hand with his wand. The hand seemed to melt for a moment, before reforming, reshaping into a long, deadly dagger. Voldemort whispered to his servant, "Show them, Wormtail."

Wormtail walked down the rows of cages, trembling. Each wolf had a name over their cage. _Emilia McGarry. Deuteronomy Falstaff. Maturin De Vance. _Names of men and women who, by no fault of their own, had been chosen by fate or simply bad luck. _They don't deserve this,_ thought Pettigrew, but his fear outranked his conscience, as it always had. _Better to be at the right hand of the devil, than in his path._ He stopped in front of the last cage. The tag above it read _Byron James._ The black werewolf looking pathetic, as it lay crumpled on the floor, attempting to recover from Voldemort's attack. It whined softly, as Wormtail drew closer. He bent down to the wolf's ear, too near to be safe, but he felt the need to do it anyway. "I'm sorry," he whispered, and plunged the knife into the dark wolf's heart. The wolf gave a pitiful howl, the howl of a dog in pain, which switched abruptly to the anguished scream of a dying man. The knife wound began to burn, giving off the strong odor of burning hair. The man screamed for only a few seconds, as his body reverted to human form, but to Wormtail, and the other werewolves surrounding him, it seemed like the screaming went on for ages.

To Lord Voldemort, it sounded like a symphony.

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Up two flights of stairs, the Dante triplets were sweating.

"Welcome to your initiation, girls," whispered Bellatrix Lestrange excitedly. She had just killed the nurse guarding the door, a woman in her early twenties, whose eyes still shone with terror. Bellatrix simply walked over her, not giving the corpse a second thought. The girls looked around at each other, wondering what they would have to do as they stepped through the door.

The corridor was nearly silent, except for the rhythmic breeze of sleeping breaths. On either side of the girls were three panes of glass, each looking in on cribs and bassinettes. Morgana looked over her head, and a hand went to her mouth in horror. The sign above them read "MATERNITY WARD." Lestrange spun to face the triplets.

"Good," she said, looking from side to side. "We are only here for the Mudbloods, and the Squibs. Do not touch the purebloods."

"Wh…what do you want us to do?" asked Morgana.

"Your initiation," she snapped. "Dispose of the vermin in our midst."

Morgana stepped back in revulsion, treading on the feet of her sisters. "We can't," muttered her sister Agnes. "Shut up!" spat Morgana, looking nervously at the Death Eater before them. Bellatrix looked amused, and not the least bit surprised.

"Look…we didn't know what you wanted of us when we joined up," said Morgana. "I don't think…I know…We can't do this! They're…they're only babies…"

"They are rats!" spat Bellatrix, with a mad gleam of vindictive joy in her eyes. "They are the lowest scum to have ever crawled the earth! If you are to kill a nest of rats, my dear, you must not hesitate! You mustn't show mercy! That little rat will do nothing but grow, infesting the pure, unadulterated blood of our families with their pestilence! You will do this, Morgana! And you, Agnes, and you as well, Verona. You will help me in killing these infestations, or you will join them!"

At this, Verona, the smallest of the girls, gave a terrified shriek and launched for the door leading out of the ward. It slammed in her face, knocking her back. Blood began to pour from her nose, and Bellatrix Lestrange looked strangely ravenous at the sight of it.

"There will be no weakness in our Order, brats! Ah, tonight we have seen who you truly are. You have been tested, and have been found lacking. Not one of you are strong enough to be one of us! And if you are not strong enough, then you do not deserve freedom; you do not deserve LIFE!" She drew her wand, holding it silkily in her hands, and pointing it at each girl in succession. The triplets began screaming. Morgana began calling for her mother; her mother who had been right all along. Their screams drowned out the curse Bellatrix fired, and all each girl saw was the terrible rush of green.

The commotion had awakened one of the babies, who according to his chart, had been born earlier that night. Bellatrix hummed to herself as she looked at the child's name. _Howard._ Filthy, common, Muggle name. She picked up the child, holding it, cradling it as her own.

"Hush, little one," murmured Bellatrix Lestrange. "I shall sing you a lullaby…"

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The screaming had begun by the time Peter Pettigrew had reached the final room. They were the screams of purebloods who remained alive inside the hospital; the screams of mediwizards, nurses, and patients who were about to die; and the horrible howling still coming from the werewolf den. Of course, the room they had just entered showed no interest in the cruelty surrounding it, nor did its residents. They were all transfixed inside their own minds; unable to comprehend the fact that hell had fallen around their ears.

"Oh, good! Admirers!" sounded a voice from one of the beds. A middle-aged man with golden hair sprang out of bed towards Peter Pettigrew, carrying with him a pile of pictures. The man was clothed in a long, purple nightgown, and wore a grin of blissful stupidity. It made Peter shudder, as he had done so much tonight. _He is more than an innocent,_ he thought. _He is a blank slate. _But, as he had done so many times, Lord Voldemort supplied the initiative, stepping over the dead body of the nurse who had been guarding the door.

"Professor Lockhart!" the Dark Lord whispered, his voice taking on a silky, mocking tone. "What an honor! What an honor indeed! We are two of your greatest admirers…could I trouble you for an autograph?"

"My dear Sir!" cried Gilderoy Lockhart, his eyes brimming with gratitude, "It would be MY honor! You know, the more I stay here, the more I begin to remember. Just flashes, really, but my memories are coming back! And soon I'll be able to take up my post again at Hogwarts, teaching those delightful children about my exploits!" _How lovely, _thought Peter, _he doesn't remember yet that he's a complete fraud._

"And they will be better off for your teaching!" proclaimed Voldemort, placing his hand around Lockhart's shoulder. "Ahh, what lovely penmanship…Wormtail, be so kind as to pay back Professor Lockhart for his generosity."

Pettigrew felt the Dark Lord's eyes on him, even if his hood was up again. It was a penetrating stare, letting him know what would happen if he refused, ever, the order of Lord Voldemort. His malice toward his enemies had long been replaced by self-loathing. _Coward,_ he thought. _Your friends have given their lives to protect the world from this man. And all you have done is broken your promises. You promised Lily and James, you promised Sirius and Lupin when you signed the Marauder's Map. They trusted you, gave you friendship when you gave THEM no reason. And the only promise you have kept is to this…Lord before you, asking you to kill again._ But deep in his heart, Pettigrew knew it was useless to chastise himself. He loved his life more than anything. His life must go on, even if it meant the death of all the rest. Besides, it was not _his_ genocide…He was just following orders.

"_Avada…Kedavra."_

This had been the first mentally disturbed person Pettigrew had ever killed, and the effect of the killing curse on a disturbed mind was not pleasant. To the end, Lockhart had been happy just for the recognition he had received. He had died with the same toothy smile on his face, the smile that had won him so many awards during his lifetime. _An innocent to the end…_

"Come, Wormtail, our mission is hardly accomplished here…Why Wormtail, did you pity this man?"

Peter knew he could not hide his thoughts from Lord Voldemort. "My Lord, I did not wish for him to live, I merely thought that he was of no harm to us. He was an innocent."

"He was of no _harm_ to us?" cackled Lord Voldemort. "He was of no _use_ to us, my dear Wormtail. He was defective, a weak specimen of wizarding, and not worthy of the empty life he led. Now come, I wish to extract my vengeance further."

Pettigrew gave one sad last look at the twisted grin of Gilderoy Lockhart, half covered by his photos, before moving on. _Only following orders…_

"Now," said Lord Voldemort, smiling, "These two I shall need to dispatch personally. After all, they've earned it." They had entered the small nook occupied by Frank and Alice Longbottom. Their madness had befallen them at the hands of crazed Death Eaters, looking to learn the whereabouts of the Dark Lord, and it seemed the Dark Lord was about to return the favor. Alice Longbottom smiled pleasantly at the snakelike face before her, and offered the Dark Lord a gum wrapping…

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"They're gone," muttered Rufus Scrimgeour, pouring himself another brandy. It had been offered to him by the Muggle Prime Minister, a man who knew that brandy was one of the best remedies around for a bad day. The new Prime Minister had become well accustomed to having bad days. Lord John Marbury had been the ambassador to India, Pakistan, and most recently the United States under the Bartlett Administration, and in his tenure, he had seen more than his fair share. Marbury was in his sixties, still rakishly handsome, with a wit that gave him the air of a debonair playboy as much as one of a Prime Minister. He had become thought of as an eccentric and a drunk, but those closest to him in his Cabinet knew it was merely for show. Underneath beat the heart of a dedicated and masterful statesman, and this was the side that made him valuable to the Minister of Magic as well. His trips to Marbury's Office in Number 10 Downing Street had been more and more frequent, as he began to recognize the man's astute ability to see the answers to some of the thorniest problems, without the use of magic.

"How many?" asked Marbury, consolingly, as he refilled his own glass of brandy.

"Eighty-five Doctors, Nurses, and Mediwizards, one hundred and forty seven patients, and our entire medical supply of potions."

Marbury winced. _They'd taken his legs out from under him._

"You know, Rufus, I've found that simply adding bamboo shoots to a shot of whiskey is remarkably effective…"

"Please don't joke with me today, John. I really cannot take it."

"It wasn't a joke, sir, but I see your point. What is it you require from Her Majesty's Government?"

"Doctors," replied Scrimgeour. "We need any help we can get."

"My doctors will not be able to supply the medical attention your patients require, Rufus."

"It's better than nothing. We've only got a few dozen doctors left. Thank God they did this at night and not during a full day shift…"

"Yes, I've found that men like this hardly ever do anything during the day. Of course you'll have my help, and the help of the British government. I have quite a few doctors on Her Majesty's payroll who keep bigger secrets than wizardry on a daily basis, and I'm certain they'd be more than happy to earn a few extra pounds by keeping this one. Is there anything else?"

"Not for the moment, thank you," said Scrimgeour, rubbing his eyes. He hadn't slept a full night in weeks. "Is there anything I can do for _you_, John?"

"Well, if you can find a way to stop bringing these Dark Wizard chaps into my sphere of influence, I'd be quite grateful. Do you know how many men, women, and children live in your magical world?"

"About 10,000, I believe," replied Rufus.

"Hmm, about the size of the population of criminals, cutthroats, terrorists, and all-around evil men that fall under my jurisdiction of London Proper, and there are more coming every day. They are coming, with guns, with bombs, with knives and with enough malice to shake the very foundations of my country. If there were any way you could keep magic from leaking over into my everyday life as well, I would be forever in your debt, Rufus."

"I'm grateful for all you've offered. We are trying as hard as we can to make sure our two worlds don't cross." Scrimgeour's shoulders fell; his eyes were full of pain when they met the Prime Ministers. "But these people, this man, Lord Voldemort, he's attacking us from all sides, John." Rufus' eyes moved to stare out the PM's window, down onto twinkling London.

"Then all sides should fight back," said John, placing a hand on the wizard's shoulder. Both men stood silently, staring out at the London night, as their separate worlds passed by beneath them.

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"Can we get anything for you, Neville? Tea? Cake? We might be able to snatch something a bit stronger? I can have Dobby up here in a second if you'd like anything from the kitchen…"

Neville sat in an armchair across from Harry and Hermione on the sofa, Ron standing behind them, leaning on the back, and had just finished telling the trio about the St. Mungo's Massacre. The Ministry had spent the day telling the bad news to the families of those killed. Harry couldn't believe the villainy, the cruelty, the sheer evil that could murder so many innocents. _Of course they attacked at night, the cowards! They're building up their courage. First attacking a train full of students, and now killing doctors, and sick and defenseless men, women…children._ Neville had told them of the cribs where the children had been found, each with a tiny Dark Mark over its head, like a grotesque hanging mobile.Hermione had been listening with one hand over her mouth, looking shocked and disgusted, the other gripping Harry's leg above his knee. He had dropped a hand to cover hers, his other fisted tightly at his side. Ron was gripping the back of the sofa so hard that his fingernails had begun to rip holes in it's fabric.

"N-no," said Neville, still holding himself rigidly erect, and maintaining what Harry considered a surprising and frightening amount of composure. "I- I just can't believe they're gone. I saw them only a few weeks ago. I always go and visit them before the start of term. And I thought…Well, I guess I wanted to think, you know, that they were getting better. My mother looked so happy when she saw me, I thought…Maybe…" Neville's head sunk down to his chest.

"I'm just being stupid," he muttered. "They were never going to get better, no matter what. The Dark Side got a hold of them, and they were done for, no matter what. I'm such an idiot."

Hermione shifted forward and reached across the space between them to rest a hand on Neville's cheek, waiting for his eyes to meet hers. "It's never stupid to have hope, Neville. That's what makes us better than them. We hope that things can improve; that they can get better. You were talking earlier today about becoming a doctor yourself, to help people who've been hurt, like your parents. That's not stupidity. That's nobility."

"Sometimes, it's a bit hard to tell those two apart," said Neville, somberly. Harry followed Hermione's lead hoping to cheer him up as well.

"Not hard at all, Nev. Everyone knows you've always had your heart in the right place."

"Yeah, my heart was never the problem," said Neville. Harry could feel all the anger brewing inside of Neville heading a dangerous direction: inward. "It was the rest of me. I couldn't ever do anything right. Doctor? I'd probably kill the first patient I had! Maybe…Maybe it was for the best."

"Neville…" Harry shifted forward on the couch, moving closer to Neville, worried; _I'm not going to let him go down this road!_

"They never had to see!" shouted Neville as he shot to his feet, yelling and waving his hands at his three friends. "They never had to see what a pathetic excuse for a wizard their son turned out to be! They got to fight for what they believed in, and die like heroes, like martyrs! They never had to see what I am…"

"Stop it!" yelled Harry, shooting to his feet as well. He had grabbed Neville's shoulders, and was shook him roughly twice. "They never had to see a pathetic excuse for a wizard? Don't you say that in front of me, Neville. They would've seen their boy turn into a man, that's what they would've seen! That's what you ARE! Yeah, you were a little raw when you came in, but so was I; in some ways, I still am! But you've learned so much! BECOME so much more since then! If they could've seen you in Herbology, and in Potions last year, when we had a teacher who wasn't rubbish! You've come so far! You were easily the best student in all of the DA, Neville, because you had the courage to do what was necessary, and the will to go where no one else would! You followed me into the department of Mysteries, without even knowing why! You put your life on the line for me, for Hermione, Ron, Ginny, all of us, and you were one of few who stood with me rather than against!" Harry paused for breath. He had gotten a lot louder than he meant to. Neville, blushing a bit now, looked a bit more confident, yet still too uncertain for Harry's liking.

"You took on Crabbe, Goyle, AND Malfoy our first year!" said Ron, seizing the opportunity to put in his two cents, scrambling around the couch to stand beside Harry. Neville burst out laughing. It wasn't Neville's regular timid laugh, but a sudden explosion, one that would have knocked down a brick wall.

"I suppose that was something, wasn't it?" said Neville, wiping a tear away.

"It was, Neville," said Hermione, joining the fray, standing to join Harry and Ron. "And you stood up against the three of us too, remember? You won us the House Cup our first year. We were lucky to have you!" Hermione's eyes blazed as she faced her friend. "And don't you ever…ever think that your parents were better off for what happened to them. They were better off simply for having a son like you. Don't you ever forget it, don't ever let anyone tell you different, make you feel anything less."

Harry never would have believed it, but he knew he wasn't looking at a boy any more. Neville might still be a teenager, but Harry knew, in his heart, that he had become a man. He nodded grimly looking them each in the eye before spinning to drop down onto the sofa. He leaned back, almost slouching, obviously much more relaxed.

"You guys aren't going anywhere for a while, right?" said Neville. Harry looked at Ron and Hermione. Ron flopped down into the closest armchair, while Hermione sat down on the sofa next to Neville and said, "Of course not."

Harry took the last seat on the sofa (next to Hermione), and said "No Neville, we're all staying. As long as you want."

The group sat together, firm in their silence, letting the simple fact that they were together heal any remaining injuries. After a while, Neville looked up from the dying embers he had been staring at, and said, "I wonder where they go?"

"Where who goes?" asked Ron, shaking himself out of his own silent reverie, his focus, seemingly, at Hermione and Harry on the couch. They had been shifting closer, inadvertently he was sure, during the silence.

"After we die…" said Neville. Harry looked at Hermione. He had been slowly moving his hand towards hers for the past few minutes wondering if he had the courage to take it, but now slipped it surreptitiously back to his own lap. Neville's question had driven any thoughts clear out of his mind.

"I think," said Ron, "That there's a huge dinner in heaven, and you just keep eating and eating, 'til you're chock full of food, and then you go back and eat some more! With a couple of breaks to go out and have Dungbomb fights or Quidditch matches…" His words trailed off, as a happy grin spread over his face.

"Typical Norse mythology answer," said Hermione. "Valhalla and all that nonsense. But really Ron, spending an eternity watching _you_ eat?" She twisted her face in mock disgust. "So you DO believe in a hell." Harry and Neville snickered. Ron simply bit his thumb at Hermione.

"I wouldn't mind staying here at Hogwarts, or a place like it," said Harry. "You know, somewhere comfortable, with no worries, no regrets, all my friends around me…"

"Yeah, and no homework," said Ron. This time Hermione laughed along with them.

"I'd have to agree with that actually," she said. "No more reading in the afterlife!"

"Really," said Harry, poking Hermione in the side, "I'd have thought you'd want to retire to a library for your afterlife."

"No, I know where I'd want to go," said Hermione. "A place only a few very special people have ever gone, have ever been allowed. A place reserved for only the greatest heroes in the land." Harry, Ron, and Neville were all looking inquisitively at her now.

"Avalon," she breathed, her eyes dilating and going misty. There was a pause, as she looked from blank face to blank face. "Oh, _honestly_," she muttered, running a hand through her messy brown curls, "I don't know _why _I even bother bringing things up to you three."

"Well then, educate us!" Said Harry, jabbing her again in the side; she retaliated with a swift punch to his shoulder.

"Alright then," she said. Hermione pulled her hair back making some kind of mystical moves with her hands securing it all on top of her head so her entire face was visible. Harry knew she was getting into her storytelling mode, and he loved to watch her as she wrapped herself and her audience up in her story.

"Well, there once was a King, named Arthur. You have all heard of him, right?" she smiled, and Harry realized she was toying with them.

"Arthur was, as I'm sure you all know, the greatest King England has ever produced. Also, one of the greatest heroes, in any country, ever. He stood for what was right, what noble, and what was true. And he acquired friends who thought the same way he did." Her eyes turned to Harry, who felt his cheeks burn slightly. _Is she saying I'm like that? I'm no Arthur…_

"Unfortunately, as with every story about a great hero, Arthur died. It was after saving Camelot from his nephew, the evil Mordred, in an epic battle. After dying, he was put onto a small boat, and allowed to drift out to sea. Now, it's said that Arthur went to the Isle of Avalon, a beautiful and lush place where there was no strife, where a great hero could finally be at peace. It's also said that any hero who is found worthy, may follow the great King Arthur to the Isle of Avalon."

"Where is it?" asked Harry.

"No one knows," said Hermione mysteriously. "You travel over many seas, and into a deep mist, until eventually, you find yourself in an inlet with water as smooth and calm as a polished mirror. The soft hands of water nymphs push your boat along, until you arrive at the dock. Beyond the dock, there is nothing but soft grass, sweet smelling flowers, honey, and sweet, delicious apples hanging from the trees. Big enough even to satisfy _you_, Ron." She stuck out her tongue briefly then continued. "There, in the rows of apple trees, walk the heroes of old, the men and women who gave the fullest amount of fidelity, of strength of will and character to their people, their causes. And there, with the heroes of old, you can truly find peace."

There was no sound, save for the soft crackling of the dying fire. Neville had gone back to staring into the tiny flames as he listened to Hermione's story. Harry loved how much passion she put into her stories, how she could create an entire world out of her words, causing her listeners to truly think about the point, the moral, what can be drawn from the story.

"An island of eternal peace, eh?" said Neville.

Hermione shrugged. "That's what the storybooks say."

"Sounds good," said Neville. Harry saw Neville's eyes drift off to another world. Harry was pretty sure he was thinking of his parents and how much they'd like apples and honey and meadows of sweet flowers. "Sounds good to me."

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Grrrrrrrrrr! First stupid grad school, then my city decides to have POWER OUTAGE for 2 days, then my editor loses HER power….Ok, I'm better now. Sorry for any delays, hope you all like it, review it, can't wait for more of it!


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor my cameo, John Constantine. Many thanks to M, the editor extraordinaire! And a belated Christmas to you all!

Harry Potter and the Marauder's Vendetta

Chapter 15: The Chess Match

The day after the St. Mungo's Massacre became common knowledge, Hogwarts' students were given a day off. It turned out that many of those killed had sons or daughters at the school, and one Ravenclaw girl lost her baby sister. All day long, Harry's thoughts kept returning to one fact: _If the Death Eaters are trying to dishearten the Wizarding world, it's not working_. Harry felt better, looking around the corridors of the school. If anything, the attacks of the past few days were solidifying the remaining students, bringing the houses closer together. Harry felt proud that the Gryffindors were leading the school in their support of the students in the other Houses. _Tragedy does nothing but make us stronger, _he thought, watching as students walked the halls in groups based more on age than House affiliation.

In the Hospital Wing, though, the world was falling apart. Since St. Mungo's had lost almost a third of the Healers working there, Madame Pomfrey had volunteered her services to the Minister, who had happily accepted. James Barrie had also decided to stay at Hogwarts, quickly assuming the role of second in command of the Hospital Wing. He had become more withdrawn since the attacks, and Harry couldn't blame him. Most of the Medi-Witches and Wizards there had been his friends. He didn't even bother to give his regular, jaunty smile anymore. In fact, the only time he really seemed content (for he never seemed happy) was when he was patching up a patient. Harry worried that the young doctor's happy demeanor would never fully recover.

Later that night, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were surprised at dinner by Professor McGonagall who had a note for Hermione.

"Your parents have sent you a letter," she said, and Harry noticed an icy tone in her voice. "You may use a school owl to respond, if you wish." Hermione took the letter, read it through once, and crumpled it into a ball. Her eyes blazed as she stood and heaved it into the fire of the Great Hall.

Harry and Ron looked nervously at each other. Both knew it was chancy asking Hermione what was wrong when she was livid; both had felt the brunt of her anger before. Ron finally decided that he dared.

"So how're the folks?" he said, with as much cheer as he could muster.

"They…want me to come home.," answered Hermione through clenched teeth.

"For the week?" said Harry.

"No. They say it's too dangerous, and they want me home for good, so I'll be safe."

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"Its not fair," said Harry later that night, as he paced around the Head's Common Room. The doors were all open, as Hermione was stomping angrily from room to room, gathering up belongings for her trip home.

"To whom?" Growled Hermione, from the adjacent bathroom. "To you, or to me? You get to finish up your studies, you get to be Head Boy, but most of all-" she entered the room, swinging her book bag so violently up onto her shoulder as she passed Harry that she nearly toppled him to the ground, "most of all, you'll be safer here. They think they're protecting me?! They're putting me in MORE danger, along with themselves! If the Death Eaters catch word that I'm out of Hogwarts, well, I might as well paint a target on our house! And a put up a sign, saying 'Come in, make yourselves at home, and while you're at it, feel free to SLAUGHTER the whole FAMILY!'" She stopped suddenly in front of Harry and slammed her bags to the floor, causing Crookshanks to go diving for cover under the table. Harry felt like he was caught in a whirlwind; he wanted desperately to wipe the anger and frustration from her face, but wasn't sure how.

"I-um…I was just making conversation, saying it's not fair." Harry put his hands up in surrender, hoping to squeeze a smile from her flushed face.

"Well, its not!" said Hermione. "I want to stay here!" Harry smiled as she gave an exasperated huff, and stomped a foot on the carpeted floor. _She really could be so cute sometimes. _

"I know," said Harry, rubbing his hands up and down her arms, smiling. "All your books are here."

"NO!" Hermione grabbed his elbows, her hands tightening, "I want to stay because…" Hermione stopped herself, dropping her eyes from his. She was about to say _Because you're here,_ but feared what it would mean if she said something like that, what could change…what could be ruined. "Because I'll miss the people here. All of them…and, this is my home. I won't give it up just because a bully is pushing us out. What kind of friend would I be, if I ran home right now?" Harry's heart soared, she was so strong and he had no idea what he'd do without her. He bent his knees a bit, wanting her to look at him, and when her deep amber eyes met his he thought for a second he could lose himself in them, gladly.

"Then make sure you convince _them_," said Harry. He couldn't stop himself from lifting a hand to brush some of her hair back from her face. "You already had me convinced." As his hand rested in the thick warmth of her curls, as their eyes held, it seemed that the floor dropped away and they were floating together, the few places they touched anchoring them. It was a moment that spun into a thousand before it was broken by a soft mewl from Crookshanks. Harry felt his jerk back to reality like a rude awakening.

"Right," smiled Hermione, stepping back from him, her voice softer now. "Then I guess I'd better get going, so I can be back in time for classes tomorrow."

"You should," said Harry. He had been so calm through her rant, but inside, his emotions were waging a war between friendship and something much more. _I don't want to lose her. Not now. I can't..._ "And be careful. If anything happened to you…" Harry stopped. _Carefully, now._ "Well, I mean, you'd be missed around here. I'd miss you."

"You'd miss me?" said Hermione, blushing, a shy smile gracing her lips.

"Yeah, well of course!" Harry stumbled, fighting the matching blush he could feel riding his cheeks. "You know, me and Ron…we'd miss you." Harry ran a hand through his hair. _Brilliant cover up, you frothing git._

"I'd miss you too," said Hermione, as she picked up her belongings and trudged toward the door. "You and Ron."

She stopped at the door. In order to open it, she had to put her belongings down. Harry saw her hesitate, reach for the door, and then slowly, her hand fell to her side.

"Harry?" she whispered. Harry moved to her side so quickly that he nearly slammed into the door. Hermione turned and pulled him into a very close, tight embrace. He hugged her back, cradling her warmth, holding onto her for dear life, wanting to hold her to him forever. Harry knew he had to let her go, but he indulged himself and clung to her for just a moment, like she was his lifeline.

"Be back soon." He whispered. "Tonight, if you can."

"I will, Harry. Goodbye." Her warm breath brushed his neck as she pulled back from his embrace.

"Goodnight," he whispered as she opened the door. "No need for goodbyes."

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"Don't worry, she'll be back," said Ron, later that evening. Harry had moved to the Gryffindor Common Room, not wanting to be in the Heads' Common Room alone, though by now most of the Gryffindors had gone to bed. But Harry felt he should stay awake, just in case Hermione returned that evening.

"You look worried," said Ron, smirking. "You really think that _anyone_ can keep Hermione from doing whatever it is she wants to do?"

"I look worried because I agreed to play you in chess," said Harry in reply, and it was partially true. Harry had agreed to play Ron tonight. Ron always did his best thinking when playing chess; strategies and ploys and plots commingled in his brain, giving the redhead new and interesting ideas. Unfortunately in the process Harry's pieces usually took a beating.

"Tell you what," said Ron, "I'll spot you my Queen. Maybe then you'll last a few minutes." Harry gave him a withering look.

"I don't need your _help_," he said, opening up his box of chessmen. All of them were trembling.

"Who are we up against tonight?" asked The King.

"Ron," Harry muttered. The entire group began shaking, and a pawn screamed out "THE DEMON!" The King immediately began suggesting bribery and political dirty tricks as a very good replacement for out and out warfare. Harry rolled his eyes. Morale was never strong when his pieces were going up against Ron's, who were all busy punching each other and picking their teeth with shards of defeated bishops and rooks.

Harry set his pieces out in order, and Ron let him go first. Harry moved out his Knight. _Aggressive, keep Ron on his toes._ The horse pawed at his white square nervously. Ron responded by moving forward a pawn. _Hmmmmmmm…._

"So," said Harry, ignoring the frightened pleas of his own pieces, "We've been having a bad few days."

"Yes," said Ron. He always went quiet when he was thinking. "They've attacked us on our way here, and now they've attacked our healers."

"You think they were trying to defeat Hogwarts in one move?" asked Harry, thinking back to the night on the train. He moved his pawn out to block Ron's. The pawn, trembling, screamed, "NOT ME!"

"No," said Ron, scratching his chin. He still had a small scar from that night. "That was more of a trial by fire. They were testing the waters. Moving a few pawns out to see how well prepared we were to block them." Ron's Queen appeared from a blind spot Harry had not seen, landing on Harry's pawn. The pawn screamed, as the Queen crushed it with a smash from her scepter. Harry grimaced. _Damn. That didn't take long._ He decided to let his Queen out, get her in position to take down Ron's Queen.

"So, if that was a test run, what was St. Mungo's?"

"That was the real thing. Take out the bishops. They killed a lot of good Medi-Witches and Wizards, murdered innocent civilians, and showed the Wizarding world that no matter where you are, you're no longer safe." Ron began moving his pawns forward. Harry was stumped. _Doesn't he see that I'm going after his Queen?_

"Well, they've tested their pawns, taken our bishops…"

"Only one bishop," said Ron. "We've still got some healers left."

"Right," said Harry, positioning his Queen. "So, what's their next move?" Ron paused, thinking. Harry let him be. _Maybe I have a fighting chance if his mind isn't on the game._

"Nothing yet," said Ron, moving his Queen out of harm's way. Harry sighed. _Damn_. "They attacked at night," he said, returning to the problem of the war outside of the Common Room. "Why is that?"

"Because they're cowards," muttered Harry, moving forward a Knight to attempt to get into position to check Ron's King.

"They are that," said Ron, moving his King out quickly as well. "But I don't think that's why they attacked when they did. They're gits, but they're not stupid. You-Know-Who…"

"You really ought to start saying Voldemort," said Harry, moving out a bishop.

"Y-Yeah," said Ron. "Well, he's fighting with smaller numbers. So he probably won't go for an all out assault. At least not yet. This is the kind of fighting it will be for a good while. Guerilla Warfare. Nip at our heels, try and keep us all scared at what could happen next." Ron suddenly began moving more of his pawns up, ignoring the fact that Harry's Queen was edging closer to his own with every move. One of Harry's pawns shouted out a triumphant, "I GET HER SCEPTER!"

"And what will happen next?" asked Harry, grinning in satisfaction. _I can't believe he doesn't see my Queen!_

Ron paused.

"Nothing." He moved his pawn again. It had reached the other end of the board. "Queen me." Harry froze. _Oh, BOLLOCKS._ He tapped the pawn with his wand, and it transformed into an identical Black Queen. All of Harry's Pawns screamed.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing." He moved the second Queen, taking out Harry's Rook. A Pawn screamed, "NOT AGAIN!"

As Ron continued, "The Wizarding world is in disarray. He's going to wait for a while, let us feel like things are getting back to normal. And then, he's going to hit us again, and hard, from somewhere unexpected." Harry's feeble attempt to kill the Queen had resulted in the death of one of his Knights. A nearby Pawn was beside himself with terror.

"SHE'S EVERYWHERE! RUN AWAY!!!"

Harry gulped. "So, at least we're going to have a little while to figure out a way to fight back, maybe get the last Horcrux, and see if we can wrench out his soul."

"I hope so," said Ron, scratching his head now. "This is all theory mind you. Just playing some Chess."

"Yeah, but the rules and strategies can apply in reality too," said Harry. He had been able to defeat Ron's original Queen with his, but that left his Queen open to Ron's second one.

"Let's hope so," said Ron. "We could all use a few days where nothing happens." Ron had taken his Queen.

Harry quickly moved his Bishop to block the Queen's progress towards the King, and was ready to move his other Rook to take it out. "Yeah, too bad Hermione's not here." Harry's eyes traveled to the Portrait, willing it to open and Hermione to walk through, smiling. "She could use a good night's rest too."

Ron smiled mischievously, following Harry's stare. "Yeah, a nice, peaceful, romantic night."

Harry's hand slipped on the Rook, and it came to rest a square away from where he meant to put it. Ron smiled even wider.

"And, that's checkmate!" he said, knocking Harry's Rook to the ground. Harry looked over his defeated group of chessmen, but his mind was elsewhere. _Was Ron planning a romantic night for Hermione?_ _It's his place to, she is meant for him._ Harry reminded himself even as he felt that twist of jealousy in his gut.

"What'd you mean, romantic night?" Harry asked, as nonchalantly as he could manage.

"What? Oh, nothing Harry." _There's that smirk on his face again, _thought Harry. "Night, mate." And Ron turned away from his celebrating chess pieces, and began the hike up the stairs to his bed.

_Chess is for amateurs,_ Ron thought merrily as he climbed the stairs to the boy's dormitory. _It's much more interesting to read your friends…_

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Hermione had given her parents a full hour of absolute silence after they had picked her up at the train station. She was stewing in the back of the car, slowly tearing the fabric out of the seat cover, thread by thread. Her father, Davan Granger, knew his daughter well enough to not ask her to stop, and so did Penelope, her mother. But once they got home, Hermione did not allow them any peace.

"I thought you'd have more luggage, Miney," said her father as he carried her overnight bag through the door.

"No need," said Hermione tersely, following him into the house. "I'm going back there. Tonight."

"Darling…" Her mom started, closing the door.

"No, Mom! I'm going back tonight!"

"Miney." Hermione turned. Her father had called her Miney since she was born, and it always made her feel special, like a special connection between the two of them. But now, the hurt in his voice and the anger burning under her skin made her wish he would call her by her full name.

"We are only thinking of what is best for you."

"No, Dad," said Hermione. "You only think you are. Bringing me home is the worst possible way to go about protecting me. If you wanted me safe, you would send me back to Hogwarts right now, right this second, and then you'd find a safe little hole in the wall of a place for yourselves, and you'd hide! Because there is a darkness coming now; a darkness I don't think you fully understand. Lord Voldemort isn't just some bogeyman, and you can't just tuck me into your bed and make sure he doesn't come to scare me! This man…this…Evil, is more than anyone can hope to work against on their own. So I choose to work against him, to fight against him with the help of my friends. But now…you've taken me away from them, you've cut me off. And I know that you think it's for my own good, that you're doing what's best for me, but please, please understand, that in this situation you do not know what's best for me, and that it's in my best interests, and yours, to stay at Hogwarts."

Hermione's eyes were welling up by this point. Her parents, who she loved dearly, were looking just as hurt as she felt and she had put that hurt there. But she couldn't let that stop her. This was much too important.

Hermione's father took her hand. "You know, sometimes I wish we'd named you after another Queen. Queen Hermione never got a fair shake in _The Winter's Tale._ Falsely accused, banished, and even made to look like a statue."

"I've been a statue Dad, it wasn't too dreadful."

"I know and that's just what I mean. You've had such a hard time already. You've been so close to death so many times that I've lost count! And to hear that the world in which you've chosen to live is self-destructing…How could we not want to bring you home, where we can watch over you."

"Yes, my world is coming apart, but I'm one of the few who understand that I can stop it. I know I can help to put the Wizarding world back to rights! Now, please, you just have to trust me!"

Hermione's mother was watching her daughter with a stony expression on her face, as she pleaded for another chance at Hogwarts. Hermione was watching her with trepidation. Her mother was no fool. She'd gotten brains from both sides of her family, but Hermione knew that her emotions came from her father; while her cunning came from her mother's side. Hermione knew her mother was sizing her up, and that Penelope was very good at making shrewd conclusions just from reading people.

"Going back there isn't just about this Lord Voldemort, is it Hermione?" She said, finally.

"What? Of course it is! What else could it be about? Haven't you been listening?" But Hermione felt a hot panic rise in her chest. She knew the feeling well. It rose, burning in her chest whenever she had lied in the past, even if the lying was only to herself.

"Who is he, Hermione? Is it that boy, Ronald Weasely?" The heat in Hermione's chest spread up to the roots of her hair and she could feel herself begin to tremble.

"I don't know what you mean, Mom."

"I mean, I know you used to fancy him, and that if he weren't so terrified of the opposite sex, he might have fancied you…Is it him you want to go back for?"

"No! Well, I mean yes, because he's my friend and a part of that world too…"

"Stop with the "world" dear, it's more than that. I'm sure helping to save your Wizarding world, and keep Witches and Wizards everywhere safe is a large part of your desire to return to school, but if you want to go back, I need you to tell your father and I the truth. I need you to tell us why you really want to go back. Is it Ron?"

"It's all of the Wizards, every–"

"Alright, if you don't know the reasons you want to go back yourself, why should we let you?"

"It's for the safety of…"

"It's _more _than that!"

"Mom! Why don't you believe me?"

"Because you're lying to us!" Hermione turned to her father hoping to gain some form of support, even a distraction for her mother from this line of questions.

"But Dad!"

"_Miney! Tell the truth!"_

"IT'S HARRY!"

Hermione suddenly felt the weight of what she had just admitted sink in. The statement seemed ridiculous at first. It couldn't be. But in her heart, she knew it was true. She had fallen in love with Harry Potter. That's why she wanted to go back. That's why she wanted to help save the world. Because saving the world meant being at his side.

"It's Harry, Dad. These past few weeks, we've been getting closer, and I know my feelings for him have changed, I don't know exactly what it means yet, but I feel like it's something very important. And I want to be at Hogwarts with him. I have to be. I need to be wherever he is."

"Well," said Mrs. Granger, "That was…unexpected."

"For me too, Mom. Believe me." Hermione paused, shaking her head. "Unexpected and awkward and complicated. But also absolutely wonderful."

"Hermione, I'm just not sure if I feel comfortable putting you back into that life, even if you feel this way for Harry. First of all, it's been a few highly charged weeks. You've lost a good friend, Harry's saved your life–very dramatically I might add, and now you both are suddenly thrust into a very adult situation. It could be only natural that you suddenly find him…inviting."

Hermione shook her head. What her parents were saying was true, it was their interpretation that was wrong. In her heart, she knew it wasn't just adrenaline and hormones. Hermione's father took her hand.

"Hermione, when your mother and I met, there was nothing to say we should fall in love. I had just finished burying my parents after the fire. Your mother had never seen me before the night of the Spring Formal at dental school. But suddenly, we bonded, it was surprising and automatic. There were sparks between us, the kind that would set the world ablaze, if they weren't sequestered inside of our hearts. Do you feel that with Harry?"

"No," said Hermione. "When we're together I feel…right. We've known each other for years. There's nothing Harry could keep from me, even if he wanted to, nothing I could keep from him, and almost always we end up telling each other everything anyway. But more than that, he is brave and selfless and kind and there is just…this…feeling I have whenever I'm near him. Like a…a shiver, mixed with a kind of burning just here," Hermione rested a hand low on her stomach, "and here." The other she placed over her heart.

"That, darling, is the spark," said her Mother. "It's just been there, inside you, waiting to for someone, the right someone, to come along and light it."

"Hermione," said Davan, "We don't want you to be unhappy. Just careful and safe."

"I know, Dad. I don't blame either of you for demanding I come home. I just can't do it. I'm sorry, but I'm going back."

Hermione's father looked his daughter in the eye. "If you feel like this, if you want to be with him, make sure it is something true, and that he feels it too."

"I will."

"And I need you to promise me one thing, dear. If you are in trouble – and I know that is _completely _out of the ordinary for you to be in trouble – but if you are, if you're in danger, you need to promise me that you will stay close to him. I've hardly met Harry Potter, but I already know that I trust him, because I trust you and you trust him, and he's done so much for you already. Now, do you promise?"

"Yes."

Her father gathered her into a hug. "Then we'd better get you back to school." And then, letting her go for a moment, he looked her in the face. "Oh, one last thing: If he feels the same way you do about him, you'd better bring him home to meet me. It's one of my fatherly perks, to scare the living daylights out of him."

Hermione laughed into her father's shirt. "You bet, Dad. I'll even let you check his teeth out."

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The Gryffindor Common Room was deathly still as Hermione entered through the portrait hole. She had taken the Knight Bus into Hogsmeade, and successfully gained access to the castle, after being saved from a monsoon of questions from Ajax by the timely intervention of Zephyra. The clock above the mantle had just struck 3 AM, and she knew she had to get to sleep as soon as possible. She muttered the password to the Head's Rooms when she noticed a pile of blankets tangled on the couch nearest the door. The pile was moving, slowly, up and down. Hermione went over, and pulled back the covers, slowly. A mop of black hair appeared, followed by a scar. Harry's scar. She reached down, following the outline softly with her finger. _This scar must be so awful for him. It's a constant reminder of what's been taken, and now what destiny he must follow, to whatever end. But it adds something to his appearance, at least to me. It makes him look…tough._ Hermione grinned, and slowly, ever so slowly, bent her head down to the scar. She allowed her lips to graze it, felt the raised outline of the lightning bolt against her lips. She felt Harry's breath suddenly pull in sharply, and shot upright, not wanting Harry to catch her taking liberties she was pretty sure he wouldn't want her taking. Harry opened his eyes blearily. His glasses perched lopsidedly on his nose.

"Wha…Is it Christmas?" mumbled Harry, looking around in confusion. Hermione had to smile.

"Not yet, Harry. Now come on. I think you'll find your own bed much more comfortable." She waved a hand to try to get him moving.

"Hermione!" he sighed happily moving to sit upright. "You're back…Knew you'd be back. I was going to stay up for you, but then Ron came down. He beat me like twelve times at chess. I almost beat him that last time, though…" _Merlin, he was cute when he was all sleep rumpled and fuzzy-headed._

"Shhhh…I know you did, Harry." She reached down and took his arm, helping him to stand.

"No, I really did. But then his rook took my King's head off. Kind of made it hard to play any more games."

"I can see how that might be a problem," said Hermione, chuckling as she led Harry towards the Head Room. Her breath caught as he threw his arm around her shoulders and leaned into her, just a bit.

"I was going to stay up for you…" His breath brushed across her face and it took all her strength to keep her face from turning to his.

"Hush, Harry, it's fine."

"Oh… Alright." Harry dropped his head onto her shoulder and she finally glanced at him. He had a sleepy grin plastered across his face, and Hermione couldn't stop the affectionate one that crossed her own face. Hermione was happy to be helping him for a change; _He's always trying to help everyone else._ The fact that he was practically wrapped around her had nothing to do with her level of happiness…or so she tried to convince herself.

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For the rest of the week, Hermione worried and thought and reworked hundreds of ways to tell Harry how she felt, but for all of her assurances to her parents, she could never pluck up the courage to say anything to Harry. _What do I do?_ She thought, _Just out of the blue, at breakfast, say, "Oh, Harry, that's a great shirt you're wearing, and it is so lovely out this Thursday, and oh, by the way, I'm completely nutters for you…_ It sounded stupid, and she was sure it would be even worse in reality. _How can you tell someone you love them on a Thursday, anyway? The entire day is so bloody anticlimactic. It would make it feel out of place! _Hermione had laughed at herself then…_Out of place? Who's to say he even wants to know? Who's to say that it wouldn't irrevocably change everything, and not necessarily for the better._ For all Hermione knew she was still just his best friend and that was all there was. Just because she'd fallen for him did not mean that he had fallen for her. If she told him and he weirded out about it, then what? Would she loose his friendship? Was it worth it? Worth the risk?_ No. Being friends with Harry was worth more than sharing her one-sided feelings. _Nothing was worth ruining her friendship with Harry. So instead, Hermione pretended as if nothing had happened. She told Harry and Ron that her parents had allowed her to come back to Hogwarts ("Told you they couldn't stop her!" Ron had roared), but neglected to mention the whole admitting to her best friend her absolute devotion and desperate love for him. And for the rest of the week, the school seemed to get back into some semblance of normal life.

The Quidditch Tryouts were an unmitigated disaster for the Gryffindor team, saved only by the fact that Seamus was out of the Hospital Wing, and proved himself quite a useful Chaser. However, Harry had quite a few old spots to fill, and had to go with some less than absolute choices for Beaters.

"That one kid, the redhead shaped like a barrel, I thought he looked like a good choice. But his aim with the bludger is just dangerous! He just HITS it! As hard as he can! Doesn't even look where it's going…" Ron was taking his position as Co-Captain very seriously indeed, keeping Harry trapped in the Common Room for hours every night. Hermione watched their discussions and knew by the look on Harry's face that he wanted a break.

Harry wished Ron would come up for air occasionally. He had too many other things to worry about besides Joseph Runningrock's accuracy, or lack of thereof, with a bludger. Worst of all was his upcoming stint as Defense against the Dark Arts Teacher. He had spent the last two nights with Hermione in the Head Common Room, trying to follow Atherton Wing's instructions as he went through various styles of attack and defense. But as the lessons went on, Harry began to notice a recurring problem: He could fight very well as long as he was standing perfectly still, with both feet planted. However, as soon as he and Hermione began dueling, and she would move in, he would trip over his own feet dodging away from her.

"Forget it!" Harry shouted later that night, after the twelfth time falling flat on his back. "There's no way I can move like that! I'll just have to nail my opponent's feet to the floor, or something."

"Look, its not that bad," said Hermione, trying to keep her calm demeanor as she helped him up off the floor. She hated hearing anyone say that something was impossible, and the deep frustration in Harry's voice jangled her nerves. "You're just not connecting my moves with your own that well. It's all a matter of footwork. It's like…well, have you ever been dancing?"

Harry's eyes widened in terror, as his mind flew back to the night during fourth year at the Yule Ball. What he did there couldn't officially be called "dancing" and could aptly be referred to as "Following wherever Pavarti led me while trying to make the least fool of myself."

"Not precisely," muttered Harry.

"Well, it's time to learn," said Hermione. Harry's brain was buzzing now; warnings blaring away in his head. _She'll be much too close! You're going to make a complete arse of yourself in front of her! _

"What we need," said Hermione, "Is a radio…ah!" An old wireless had suddenly appeared on the shelf. _Thank God for rooms that know what you need_ she thought as she flipped on the radio. Hermione fiddled with dials for a few moments, switching past a few stations playing, swing, or the Weird Sisters, and a Wizarding News Service, until finally she found a classical music station. A slow, melodic waltz was playing, something she had heard before. _Some music can even cross magical boundaries._ Harry used the time to pace and worry and try to get himself under some semblance of control. There was no dissuading Hermione when she got that look in her eye so he needed to keep his mind on anything but her. _Quidditch…Malfoy…The Order…DADA…Kreacher kissing Professor McGonagall…Oh, GOD, that did it! _He spun to face her when she addressed him after seeming to pick a station.

"Alright, Harry." She positioned herself, one hand high the other out from the middle of her body. "First you'll need to put one hand at my waist, and another in my hand." Harry was looking terrified, but Hermione only smiled reassuringly, she too remembered the Yule Ball and how uncomfortable he looked on the dance floor with Pavarti.

"Look, this is my way of helping you…to say thanks for helping me. Now we're even, as long as you teach me how to fly, like you promised." Harry still looked wary, so Hermione took direct action, dragging him to the middle of the Common Room and pulling his hand onto her hip. She felt for a moment as if she had just touched a live wire. A shiver ran up her spine, reached her brain, and then rushed back down, carrying the excited news to the rest of her body. _That spark is a strong thing,_ she thought as she tried to clear her head, placing a firm grip on Harry's other hand.

"Okay…this may be a bit hard to teach you, since usually, the man leads in every dance. But I'll start you on the basics." _Did she just call me a "man?"_ Harry's quickly becoming fevered brain wondered. He was still trying to ignore the jolt of having his hands on her when she'd made that comment.

"Oh…That's good," was all he could get out. He seemed to be a little short of breath.

Hermione saw him lick his lips, almost expectantly. She shook her head just a bit, trying to focus on teaching…not on Harry and his…not on Harry.

"First of all…" she shifted. _Oh, this is so _not_ a good idea_, Harry thought to himself, his muscles tensing as he fought to keep his body under control.

Hermione sighed. Harry was like a clenched fist, all of his muscles were tight. "First of all, Harry, you need to relax. Keep your frame rigid, but don't tense up so much, or else you can't move." She watched as he shut his eyes for a moment, and took three deep breaths. Hermione used to time to take in his face without him knowing. Even without those brilliant green eyes he had a great face. Strong jaw, high cheekbones. Purposefully she skipped over his lips, knowing that would not be a good place to lose herself if he opened his eyes at the wrong moment. When he did open his eyes and their direct gaze cut right through her, pushing that spark into a flame, she simply smiled for him and continued. "Now, light, but firm. Good…" Harry was pretty sure her directions weren't supposed to put those kinds of visions behind his eyes, but really…was it his fault if they were a little suggestive?_ Yes_, he sighed,_ it is my fault…I seriously doubt Hermione means them that way._

Hermione wasn't sure if she was moving through the steps too quickly for him, but her excited teacher's brain was firing off at a hundred miles an hour.

"Now, the footwork; this is a waltz, Harry. They are the easiest to learn, because you simply move around in a square to start with. One, two, three…One, two, three…You feel the rhythm, Harry? Let your body move with the beat of the music." Harry tried to take a step, but was so flustered by the decidedly not "Hermione's just a friend" path his brain couldn't seem to keep off that he tripped and fell right into her.

"Sorry! Sorry! That was stupid of me, I shouldn't have…" But Hermione put two fingers to his lips. How desperately she wanted to replace her hand with her lips, but she had to maintain control. Had to stay friendly; friendly thoughts, friendly actions.

"Hush, Harry." _Was she trying to kill him? Could someone die from denying their body what it so wanted? Would he find out?_ Harry forced himself to stay still, to focus on her words, her eyes, and nothing else. You're allowed to make mistakes. What you need to do is take one step forward with your left foot. One…" Harry clomped his foot forward, still looking rather terrified but dedicated to the attempt.

"Good, now move your right leg so that it's next to your left, but shoulder length apart, okay? Good, now that's two." Hermione was making sure that her feet were matching his the entire way, so that he could feel how the motions of one person affected another.

"Last step: bring your two feet together…that's right, move the left foot to meet the right one. Now, you just do it in reverse. Right foot back…to the side…together. Good, Harry. You're getting it!" Harry was quickly beginning to loosen up, now that he knew all he had to do was walk around in a square. It helped that her hands stayed on his shoulder and in his hand; that he could look at his feet rather than her excited face. Hermione tried a few more boxes with him, and soon his feet were no longer stumbling to keep up with her, and his mouth was no longer counting the beats. He felt Hermione relax in his arms, and Harry couldn't stop himself from pulling her just a bit closer as he began to take the lead.

"How do you know this? Did you take lessons?" _Hopefully talking would keep his brain focused on the task at hand, not the woman in his arms._

Hermione smiled. "At first, I just watched _Strictly Ballroom _about fifty times but then my parents noticed how much I watched it and got me a few lessons. Mostly so they could watch the evening news again."

Harry couldn't resist having a little fun with her. "Were the lessons with someone very…special?"

"_Very_," replied Hermione. "Very special. Of course, he was also very _seventy_." Harry laughed.

"So, no competition for your dance card, then?" He dipped her, hoping to look suave, like an old Fred Astaire movie he'd caught the end of once…_Heaven, I'm in heaven._ _And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak. And I seem to find the happiness I seek, When we're out together dancing cheek to cheek. _He was so distracted by the feeling of her back on his arm, her hair swinging down, her face close to his, her legs entwined just a bit with his own that he didn't notice the song had changed. _So this is why men were always dipping women._

Now there was a slow, pulsing song on the radio. If Hermione hadn't been rapidly losing blood to her brain, she could've told him it was a slow rumba, but unfortunately, her body was quickly taking over for her brain. Harry finally, thankfully, pulled her out of the dizzying dip, but he didn't let go. Hermione felt the tables turn slightly. Suddenly she was the one tensing up. She felt her body instinctively sway with the music, her hips moving side to side, with one of Harry's hands resting gently on them. Slowly his wide palm skimmed possessively across to her lower back and they were suddenly much closer together, only inches apart, the hand holding her own having curved around it bringing them both to his chest, his cheek brushing against hers. Hermione gulped. The waltz had been structured, and she had been able to keep a certain amount of distance, both physically and mentally. But now those walls were coming down fast, and Hermione felt his breath close to her ear, his heart against her chest. They were now slowly moving in lazy circles, not noticing that the music had changed yet again, not noticing that the door to their Common Room had opened, not noticing that Ron, the only other person to know their password, was tapping his foot impatiently even as he tried to hide a smirk.

"Oi!" he finally shouted, and was amazed at how quickly two people could spring apart given the proper accelerant. "McGonagall told me earlier that we're having a meeting of the Order tonight. Reckon we should be moving along, eh?" Harry and Hermione both nodded. Harry ran a hand through his hair, uncomfortable that Ron had caught them dancing, and noticed for the first time that he was sweating, both from the waltzing and the closeness to Hermione. As they made their way from the Gryffindor Common Room, Hermione whispered in his ear, "Remember that you owe me a broom ride now. I want to learn!"Harry gave her a lopsided grin in return, and ran to catch up with Ron who was walking purposefully toward the Headmistress's Office, and also subversively giving Harry and Hermione time to whisper behind him.

"Ron," began Harry quietly, "Look, mate…what you walked in on, its not what it looked like. We were just working on my coordination."

"Oh yeah?" smiled Ron, his voice low to match Harry's. "Very up close and personal tutorial from the look of it…"

Harry gulped. He _knew _Ron fancied Hermione, even if he would never admit it. "All I'm saying is…Look, I know you've got a thing for Hermione. You may be too stubborn to admit it, but you do. I just want you to know, I'm not trying to get in your way or anything."

"Well, thanks for that truly penetrating insight, Harry, but I'm afraid you're a few months behind the times. Hermione and I are just friends; that's all."

Harry looked stymied. "But you…you and she…at Dumbledore's funeral…and in Ginny's room…You do SO fancy her!" he whispered.

"Oh, _I_ do!_"_ said Ron. He was having a hard time not showing on his face how much he was enjoying this. "_Now_ who's being stubborn? I think you should ask Hermione, then. But we're not together, never will be. Sorry to disappoint." Ron grinned. Harry looked as far from disappointed as anyone he had ever seen.

The stone gargoyle now loomed in front of them, guarding the entrance to the Headmistress's Office. Ron walked right up to it and said "Seanachie". Harry looked quizzically at him.

"What?" said Ron. "It's not like only _you _can be trusted with privileged information."

"You probably don't even know what it means," sighed Hermione.

"Sure I do! Its some kind of Irish word…meaning…something… Witty. Witty and very handsome…usually with…red hair. Very appropriate, I thought, considering that I'm attending tonight."

"It's another word for an Irish storyteller, and you need to read more!" laughed Hermione.

"Well, I was close! Besides, why do I need to know what the password _means._ It opens up the _door_ the same way. Besides, the password is being changed something like every couple of hours. Tighter security and all that."

Harry smothered a laugh with his hand. Hermione simply rolled her eyes and muttered "Boys."

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The Office was little changed since Harry saw it last, other than the addition of a conference style table in the center of the room. Hermione noticed, with a sense of satisfaction, that it was round. _It's nice to see that Sir Thomas Mallory still has his fans in this day and age_. At the table were seated several of the teachers, whom Harry assumed were made members of the Order. Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick were whispering to each other; Hagrid was pacing nervously by Professor McGonagall's side. Professor Lupin had his arm around the shoulder of a man Harry did not know. He looked to be about forty, with blonde, spiky hair, and cynicism etched across his face. He was wearing a long brown trenchcoat, and as Harry watched, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up. Cigarettes seemed to be a calling card of the man, as he smelled like an ashtray. An ashtray in the middle of a forest fire. Professor McGonagall rose as she saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione enter.

"Thank you for coming," she said. "I'm glad all three of you could make it. This meeting will be short. I thought we should just let you in on the goings on of late. Mr. Constantine?" The man with the trenchcoat stood. "Harry, this is John Constantine. Not an Order member, more of a kindred spirit."

The man named Constantine looked Harry up and down, with a look bordering on contempt. "Harry Potter, eh? The Hero of Hogwarts and all that."

Harry knew at once that he didn't like this man. "You have a problem with that, Mr. Constantine?"

"Nah, just thought you'd be taller is all. But I guess we can't all be tip top. Only room for a few of us at the paramount of evolution."

"I didn't call you here for your evaluation of Mr. Potter, John. Only for your evaluation of the events of late."

"Just collating data, Mum," said Constantine, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

"You oughta be more respectful," growled Hagrid. "Wouldja like me to show ya why?"

"No need to get physical, Mungo. I'm as respectful as they come. So, Tiny, I'm supposed to fill you in on what is really going on. Any idea why they called me in to do that?"

Harry blinked for a moment. He assumed the man had just referred to him. "I…Well, I take it you're an ex-student, and that you are with the resistance against Voldemort."

"You're almost partly right," muttered Constantine. "Never was a student, though I'm sure they would've _loved_ to have me. Never was very well suited for academia, personally, but I've got a knack with magic, and I'm connected from here 'til your Mum's birthday. Problem is I know a lot about a lot, but not much about your little slice of nothing."

"Nothing?!" cried Hermione. Apparently Harry wasn't alone in his distaste for the man. "This _nothing_ has destroyed half of this civilization! And he's working on the rest!"

"Your _civilization _was on the road before this git ever decided to dress up like The Wicked Witch of the Fucking West and start waving his stick around, so it's not really my problem. And I thought you were supposed to be the brains of the operation, Curly. Can't you see outside of your little corner of hell?" Constantine was pacing now.

"This is bigger than Witches and Wizards, bigger than magic even. You're all part of something right now. The evil in the world is finally waking up to the fact that they're in more control than good, and so it's starting to flex. You think you need a wand to start the fire? I've seen evil begun in the hearts of five year olds more terrifying than this reptilian git! He gives himself a new name, gets a facial, and suddenly he's public enemy number one. In the big picture, he's nothing. A page in the book. He don't even get a chapter heading, that's how small he is. You've gotta check the fucking _index_ to roust him out. Now look, I'm not sure this is the 'update' you were supposed to get, but you need to have a little perspective is all I'm saying. This chappie is a full on fucking fuckwit, and I've seen too much in my life to piss meself over a man dressed like a vicar and whirling a magical conductor's baton in me face."

"So…are you saying that my battle is pointless?" demanded Harry.

"Not pointless, just…not alone. You do what you have to do to set things right here. It is important, just like all the other battles raging out there right now. If it were pointless, I wouldn't have shown up tonight. But you need to think bigger, Shorty."

"Well, that's _very _interesting," said Harry, brimming with anger. "Now, was there anything _helpful_ you could share with us? Regarding our "page" in this book of yours?" Constantine sighed.

"You just don't get it, do you," said Constantine, flicking his cigarette into the dustbin, which began hacking. "Voldemort's got you all so scared that you don't see that he's bound to _lose._ It's one of the fundamentals of living, boys and girls. When you live, you end up dead. And a sub-corollary of this fact is that if you fight death, it's going to come back twice as strong, and serve you your bollocks with a side of chips. You try and live forever, and you're messing with magic at its deepest. And at its deepest, Magic is a living, breathing force. You can call it magic, manna, you could call it Susan if you want, but magic is a living entity. Just so happens a few of us lucky lads and lasses have a stronger rapport with it than others. Fate or Destiny or what have you rearing its ugly head and butting in. But when you use magic, you're not controlling the power. You're bargaining with it. Dealing with it. You're connected to it as a partner, not as a master. So when some sodding pillock decides he's in charge of what magic will do for him, he ends up disturbing the balance. And seeing magic re-distribute the ballast is a sight to fucking see, let me tell you. Trust me, Tiny, this git will come to a bad end soon enough. You just keep pushing back, and you'll get the magic on your side."

"But do you have any information about _how_ to beat him?" asked Ron.

"You've already got all the information you'll need. You're collecting his trinkets, you bring 'em together, and you break them open. No big mystery to it. Only, I'd recommend doing it fast, because from what I've heard through me mates the Dark Side is planning a major haul in the next few months. Can't say when or where, but keep your eyes open, and your arses to the wall."

Harry looked nonplussed. If anything, his meeting with John Constantine raised more questions than answers. Constantine seemed to sense his confusion.

"Look, mate. I had a friend, couple of years back. Fellow had been through some hard times, and ended up looking like something you'd expect to slide off the underside of your boot after a slog through the marshes. Called himself Swamp Thing, after he changed. And he thought that he was a mistake, a fuck up of nature, until he found he was part of something bigger, and more important. He helped bring about the solution to an onslaught of evil the size of which our world hasn't seen in ages. But the thing he figured out that was important, at the end of the fight, the thing that mattered the most to him after all was said and done, was that you can only do so much. You do your part. You be yourself, and stand your ground. After that, it's all up to the odds and the gods. So you've just gotta trust in yourself that you'll see this through. And I'll do what I can to lend an eye and an ear to your cause as well. Nothing grand about it, Hero. Just keep on keeping on."

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"…What just happened?" Ron was scratching his head on the couch of the Gryffindor Common Room, with Hermione by his side. Harry had gone back to the Head Room, to have a quick shower before Hermione retired herself.

"I mean, the bloke in the coat is supposed to help us, but I could've gotten a clearer answer from a mountain troll with a mouth full of marbles. All that talk about what magic _really_ is, and that rubbish about You-Know-Who not being important. Completely mad! I don't think there was one ounce of sense in anything he said…"

"Why can't you say 'Voldemort'?" asked Hermione. "That's what Constantine was really getting at. He was talking about giving a person too much respect, or fearing them to the point that they become larger than they are. It's just a name. Some simple letters that a boy chose for himself fifty years ago. It shouldn't be that hard to say."

"Yeah, except look who the boy turned out to _be_," said Ron, looking uneasy.

"But don't you see, Ron? You respect me, and you respect Harry, but you don't feel afraid of our names. You fear McGonagall, to a point…"

"I do not!"

"You do, Ron. Everyone does. But you don't feel afraid of mentioning her name when she's not in a room. You want to defeat Voldemort? You've got to start in your own mind. That's what Constantine was saying tonight. At least, that's my theory."

Ron sat still for a moment, his mouth opening and closing slightly. He licked his lips, and looking to Hermione like a man about to jump off of a high dive.

"V-V…"

"That's one letter," said Hermione. "Only eight more to go."

Ron closed his eyes. He remembered when he first pulled out a loose tooth. It was sore at first, and he feared the pain. But he remembered how much better he felt when the first baby tooth was gone…

"Voldemort."

Hermione applauded him, beaming. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Ron grinned. "No, not once I got it out. Felt loads better afterwards, actually. Seems silly now. I guess…I guess the name really doesn't hold any power."

"And once you stop assigning the name power, the man's power weakens," replied Hermione.

Ron couldn't help but laugh. He suddenly felt lighter by a hundred pounds. "And now that I've said it, I think it's only fair that you say what you've been afraid to say for awhile now, Hermione."

"And what's that?"

Ron raised his eyebrows significantly. "I've seen the way you look at Harry. For one so clever, you're dreadfully obvious."

Hermione gasped, a million different excuses running through her mind at once. _He can't know!_ But then again…_Fear of the name only increases fear of the person…Fear of admission only increases fear of discovery…_

"I'm falling for him Ron."

Ron cackled with glee, to hear what he had supposed for so long, and then put on his best 'Hermione' face. "There, Hermione, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Hermione smiled. "Not in the least."

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OK, next chapter out soon!! Hope you all like this and review!


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Oh, by the way, the John Constantine in the last chapter was the one from the movie…kind of. It's more of the John Constantine I read in Alan Moore's Swamp Thing, and later in _Hellblazer_. I highly recommend you read them too. I don't own him, though, or Harry Potter.

Chapter 16: Insomnia

The night of the first DA meeting was cold for the beginning of October, with a strong wind off the lake that rattled the windows in their panes. Harry knew that every member of Dumbledore's Army had the same questions tumbling about their brains; _What will he teach us? What will he expect from us?_ Harry looked out over his recruits – many of them trusted members of the original DA. Then he looked over to the newest members: all Slytherins. Harry had asked Draco to invite any and all Slytherins from fourth year and up; those he thought would be open to joining the defense group. Draco had supplied five new members, fewer than Harry thought they would get, but then again, he hadn't known what to expect when he invited the Slytherins to join in the first place. He cleared his throat, giving a quick glance over to Hermione and Ron, who were sitting close to each other on his right. Both looked nervous.

"Alright, welcome to the first meeting of the DA this year. Now, the D.A. is, for those who are new, Dumbledore's Army. And even though he's gone, that's who we are. To begin with, I think we should practice a few basic curses, something to make sure we can all protect ourselves when the occasion calls for it. I think to begin with, we should practice the _Expelliarmus_ spell. I know that it's basic, but it's been very useful in the past. Now to begin with…" Harry froze. He couldn't remember how the wand movement began. _You lift the wand…and what?_ He heard a slight murmur from the crowd. One of the new Slytherin boys muttered something to the girl sitting next to him. Harry heard her laugh derisively, pointing at Harry. Another voice broke out, and then another. Soon, the entire room was laughing at him. Harry felt himself shrink, until the faces around him seemed giant and grotesque, the fingers all pointing like lances toward him. In desperation, he looked to Ron and Hermione, but saw them laughing and pointing along with the rest of the group. "Harry," crowed Hermione, "How could I possibly feel anything towards such a useless, pitiful excuse for a wizard!" Harry needed to explain, to try and remember, but the more he struggled to speak, the louder the voices of the mob around him became, all raised in sneering mockery. Harry saw Draco, the old familiar sneer back on his pointed face, one long finger pointed directly at Harry. He felt Draco prod him with his finger, again and again. Harry could feel Draco's finger beginning to leave a bruise on his chest, as he poked him over…and over…and over…

Harry gasped, fighting out of the dream even as his hand shot out to grab a hold of Draco's arm before he could poke him again. When his eyes opened he found Hermione's arm clenched in his hand, her body sprawled across his legs, and a petrified look on her face.

"Sorry!" she whispered, frozen in place where he'd dragged her after she'd tried to wake him. She was shocked at the strength in him; he'd pulled her bodily onto the bed with just his arm. The look on his face was a different matter… He'd looked…scary there for a moment. "I could hear you muttering in your sleep, and I thought… I thought you might want someone to wake you." Harry stared back, uncomprehending for a few moments, and then blinked. _It had all been a dream. _He took in her position and his hand gripping her arm and tried to clear his head. Slowly he took a deep breath and let it out.

He released her arm, feeling a bit sheepish. "Sorry about that," Harry muttered as he scooted back on the bed to lean against the headboard. She gave him a small smile and readjusted herself so she was sitting on the side of the bed, rather than sprawled across him. _As attractive a visual as that is, he needs a friend right now!_ She chided herself before focusing on his taut face.

"Was it Voldemort?" she asked, looking worried.

"What? Oh, no. I don't think so, at least. Just nerves I think. Something…" he strained to remember. The dream was leaving him as quickly as it had come, and Harry was left with a vague feeling of foolishness for making such a fuss over…_the DA meeting…?_ "Hmmm… nerves about the DA I think."

Hermione's face softened and she playfully smacked his legs. "That's nothing to worry about. You've done it all before. You just need to start over from the beginning. Make sure everyone's up to do date on what you think they should know."

"It's not the teaching I'm worried about. It's more…" Harry paused. Hermione was staring at him, but not at his face. He followed her eyes down, and remembered he was shirtless. _Is she…checking me out?_ "Can I help you?" he asked, grinning slightly.

"Hmm?" He watched her take another second before she seemed to come to herself and her eyes snapped to his. "No, I mean, well…erm… What are you worried about if not the teaching?" _She's even cute when she's flustered…_Harry thought even as he tried to dampen the part of him doing a jig over her staring at his naked chest. He shoved that part to the back of his head.

Harry shifted a bit, a different kind of nerves acting up. He wanted to cover up, but a thought in the back of his mind kept him from doing so. "It's not the teaching. It's teaching the Slytherins. With the other Houses, I knew I could trust them, even if I didn't like them very much." His mind traveled to Zacharias Smith. "But trusting a Slytherin just seems…wrong and…against everything I've come to believe about the state of the world around me."

Hermione looked thoughtful. "Well…I suppose you'll just have to try harder." Harry looked perplexed. "I'm sorry if you were looking for comfort, Harry, but we all just have to try harder. We've let these silly House rivalries go too far, and frankly, I don't care anymore who started them. We all started it. We all propagated the tension. We have all fought so many little battles against each other that we forgot the bigger war going on all around us. And we've forgotten that many of us are on the same side of this war. We're all right. We're all wrong. But its time to take a stand, Harry. You're our leader, and we'll follow you. Just make sure you take us in the right direction."

Harry looked uneasy and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Can I at least give Malfoy a hard time?" Hermione laughed.

"Of course! We may be on the same side, but it is so enjoyable to watch his face go all puckered when he gets mad! Makes him look even more like a ferret."

Harry smiled. "Good then." He relaxed again, lazily thinking of the lesson he would be teaching the next day. Hermione however, had not yet left his side. Harry noticed she was staring at him again, in the same way she did when they were dancing. It was no longer making him feel uncomfortable. Instead, he felt happy and content with her there.

"See something you like?" he said cheekily, hoping the teasing would keep his wandering mind away from…certain places it shouldn't be going. Places that held visions of things friends didn't do together.

"Hmm?" said Hermione, snapping her out of her trance yet again. "Oh, ha ha, Harry!" She smacked his legs again, a bit harder this time. _I have got to get myself under better control around him. At this rate I'll end up drooling as I stare at him and won't that be fun to explain…_ "I'm just not tired yet. I've been having dreams lately too. Not all of them good and I'm not in a hurry to head back to sleep."

Harry stretched, resting his hands behind his head. "What do you dream of when you have bad dreams?" he asked. "The same thing as when you see a Boggart? Do you see a giant 'T for Troll' scrawled across an assignment floating towards you?"

"No," said Hermione, cursing him even as the vision of his long arms reaching above his head burned itself into her brain. "It's usually of falling. And heights. I've never liked them, and so far, all of my experiences haven't led me to believe I ever will. In my dreams, when I fall, I'm sitting in class, or at home, and then suddenly, the room will dissolve around me. Then I'll be a thousand feet in the air, it seems, and just be falling for what seems like hours. I always wake up from those dreams just…terrified." Harry shifted at the shadow of remembered terror in her eyes. He desperately wished he could gather her up and comfort her, but the way his mind was working lately, he wasn't sure he trusted his own arms. Instead, he took the "concerned friend" route.

"Have you ever hit the ground?"

Hermione shook her head. "Never. I don't think my brain will allow me to get flattened in my dreams. And I'm grateful for that."

Harry chuckled as he shook his head. "I've really got to get you on a broom," he said. Hermione's eyes grew wide.

"No need for that day to hurry up and get here," she said, shuddering.

"No, I'm sure you'll like it," said Harry shooting her a broad grin. "Promise!"

_Maybe I will,_ thought Hermione as her stomach flipped from the excitement of a joyous grin from Harry Potter. _If you're doing the teaching, I may just enjoy it after all._

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The next day, after all the classes had finished but before dinner, Draco met with Blaise Zabini in the Slytherin Common Room. The mood had changed significantly since the end of last term. No longer were the students lounging around, contemplating ways of expelling Gryffindors. In fact, considering that last year the student's plans went far beyond expulsion, the current state of affairs was positively pacifist. However, that didn't mean every student had to be happy with it.

"Do we really have to go to this?" moaned Blaise, once again. Draco rolled his eyes. _Never thought I'd actually meet the day when I missed the company of Crabbe and Goyle. At least those two were quiet, even when they didn't want to do something._

"For the last time, Zabini, yes!" said Draco. "I promised the Trio some recruits, and we're the only ones here. I know it's a change, and I'm not saying I'm thrilled about the prospects of a few hours under Potter's tutelage, but we are going to go. You and me and every eligible member of our house; because if there is to be something beneficial, I won't have Slytherin House kept out of it."

This speech was mostly true, and Draco presented it well, but somewhere, somewhere deep down that Draco tried to ignore as often as possible, he knew that the world had shifted in the past few months. And as much as he hated to admit it (and knew he would never admit it even under pain of death) he and those three Gryffindors had gotten to be friends over the summer. Draco shuddered. _Great Merlin! We're not even simple ACQUAINTANCES anymore._

Blaise still looked unconvinced. "Every other House will be there," he said darkly. "We'll have to commingle with all of those Mudbloods…"

"Don't say that word," muttered Draco harshly. He shook himself; did he just really say that?

"Have you gone soft?" said Blaise looking horrified.

"No!" said Draco. "I mean…Look. Why hate someone due to something like their heritage, when you can hate for so many _other _reasons. _Better_ reasons." Blaise still looked wary.

"I still don't like fraternizing with Mud…with wizards like this. How can we show that we're superior if we're following their lead? Marching to the beat of their leader?"

_Maybe we're not as good as we thought_, thought Draco. _Maybe we are all the same. Maybe it's not who our fathers are, but what we _do_ that is important._ Draco knew in his heart this was true. He had lain awake the last few nights, pondering this thought. Ever since the train, he had been thinking of his father. _I don't feel the need to be like him. _But Draco smiled his deadliest Malfoy smile. He knew he'd never get far with Blaise Zabini by letting him in on that little secret. So instead, he said, "Blaise, Blaise…we are superior. Of course we are. But not because of where we come from; but simply because _we_ are better than _them._" His grin widened. "And tonight, we're going to prove it."

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The Room of Requirement blazed bright with the light of hundreds of candles, and reflected off of the covers of a hundred books that Harry knew he would need later on. Harry had been thinking of the DA for weeks now, and came to the conclusion that the lessons had to be about more than hexes and curses. They were about protection. And the members of the DA had to be able to defend themselves through anything. So, along with the regular defense books, there were also books of judo and basic hand to hand combat around the room, and several charts explaining the proper way to throw a punch, or defend yourself from a male oncoming attacker. Hermione especially seemed pleased by the moving poster of a woman kneeing a man in the crotch.

"Some men need that, even if they're not attacking you," she said. Harry felt the need to cross his legs where he sat. He looked around. There were many new recruits to the DA this year, all of whom seemed at least competent. A young Hufflepuff with thick horn-rimmed glasses was sitting next to a thin Ravenclaw girl. Both were looking nervously about and whispering to each other. Harry could tell they were both excited by the prospect of learning defensive skills.

"Malcolm Higgins and Sarah Frye," said Ron. "Both lost someone in the St. Mungo's Massacre." Harry and Hermione stared at him in disbelief. "What? Surprised I've been doing my homework?"

"Always," said Harry and Hermione together.

Across the room, Luna was sitting, twirling her wand slowly between her fingers, and looking lazily up at the sky. Neville was sitting next to her, looking taut and expectant. When they saw Harry looking their way, both gave a salute, touching their wand to their heads. Harry smiled, remembering that Luna had given him the same salute at the train. It made him feel important. He turned to Ron and Hermione, and passed the salute on to them. They grinned, returning it.

"Might be a good way to keep up morale," said Ron. "Like a secret handshake; something to make the DA seem like a special part of their lives." Hermione nodded.

"It is nice to know you are part of something bigger," she said. Harry was about to agree when suddenly he heard a noise from outside. There was the sound of marching feet, coming closer, and closer. Harry nodded to Ron and Hermione, who both drew out their wands. No one was expecting an attack, but Harry wasn't going to take any chances. The marching feet walked by the room once…twice…and then a third time. Harry raised his wand to the door, knowing that whoever was looking for the door had just found it. The door swung open, and Harry saw Draco Malfoy standing there. But before he could respond Draco had marched in, followed by twelve Slytherin students in two straight lines. They were marching in perfect syncopation, and Harry saw Draco was leading them like a captain. He marched them into the room, and then, as he reached the center, put up his hand in a fist. The group stopped as one. Harry saw Draco take in the room, take in every surprised stare from every non-Slytherin, and then turned to look at Harry. He pivoted, standing straight and tall in front of Harry, and then, silently, his fellow Slytherins turned as well. Harry stood, dumbfounded. _It looks almost like he's built the army I need!_ Draco strode forward, grasped Harry's surprised hand, and said, in a loud, clear voice, "Thanks for waiting for us, Harry."

Harry noticed quite a few of the Slytherins, Blaise Zabini in particular; flinch as Draco took his hand. Harry knew Draco was making a point to his recruits, and cementing his position as one of the people trying to bring the school together. Harry felt a sudden surge of admiration for his old adversary.

"Wouldn't have started without you, Draco, or any of our other friends."

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After things had settled down, Harry decided that the first thing to do now before class began officially was to get everyone's name. So he got Hermione to bring forth the list of the DA from two years ago. Harry was surprised to see that the sheet of paper had stretched, so that it could accommodate more names, and that the paper had changed slightly. The names of any members of the DA who had graduated were now grouped together; the Weasley Twins were right above Cho Chang. Harry was surprised at how little he thought of her anymore. Above them were the names of those still in the DA, with Harry, Ron, and Hermione at the top of the list. Beneath those who had graduated, Harry saw the name of Marietta Edgecombe, the Ravenclaw girl who had betrayed their group to Professor Umbridge back in their fifth year. With a smile of grim satisfaction, he saw the name had the word _SNEAK_ in large red block letters written through it.

Beneath Marietta's name was something Harry wasn't expecting. There was a gold star, and next to the star, the name _Ginny Weasley_. Harry stiffened, the pain of her death flashing hot and sudden through his chest. He felt a hand grab his, and heard Hermione whisper something in his ear that he didn't quite catch. But he turned and faced her just the same, putting on the best face he could.

"Right smart piece of paper you've got there, Hermione." She still looked uncertain, and Harry knew that she wasn't fooled by his recovery or the small smile he tried to force onto his lips.

"Thanks." She looked him in the eye, and saw that he still needed a minute to recover. With a glance, she told Ron to stay with him. Ron put a hand on Harry's shoulder, and Hermione stepped forward.

"Now, before any of you sign this paper, you should know that it is a binding magical contract. I'm sure many of you remember what happened to the last traitor we had in the DA, but for those of you who don't, suffice to say that if you tell anyone about us, you will find the punishment surprising and very unpleasant. If you've been invited here, it's because you were trusted to keep its secrets and to be faithful to the purpose that Dumbledore's Army was formed under. We are here to learn, and to build an Army, an Army ready to defend Hogwarts against any who threaten it. If you don't think you can do this, then you are free to leave now."

Many of the Slytherins looked unnerved; Hermione was sure a few of them remembered what happened to Marietta Edgecombe, and the rest had heard of it. Also, being a member of a secret organization that included the other three Houses seemed to be causing a few of the Slytherins actual physical pain. Harry had recovered enough during Hermione's speech to move forward and stand beside her. He took the piece of paper from Hermione, along with a quill, and walked right up to Draco. _If he doesn't act, none of the others will either._ He held out the quill, and Draco took it. He looked back at his Slytherins, his friends. He knew that they were looking to him for leadership. He had the choice between ruining the chances of House reconciliation or bringing the Houses together with one stroke of the quill.

He signed. Harry felt relief wash over him, and gave Draco the salute he had been given earlier. Draco actually broke into a smile (Harry was unused to this; there was not even a trace of his smirk) and saluted back. Draco turned to his comrades.

"Who's up next?" Without waiting for an answer, he strode over to Blaise Zabini, and held out the quill with his thumb and index finger. Seconds passed, as Draco slowly twirled the quill in his fingers. His message was clear. He expected everyone to sign, as he had done. Picking Blaise was his way of showing that even the most vehement detractors would sign. Blaise was strong in his defiance. He was actually able to look Draco back in the eye for a full five seconds before dropping his gaze to the floor. Draco snapped his fingers impatiently, bringing Blaise's attention back to him. He looked unwilling, but eventually cowered under Draco's imperious glare, and nodded sullenly. As he walked toward the sheet, Harry saw Zabini mutter something under his breath to Seamus Finnegan, who turned the color of a fire engine. Suddenly, without warning, Seamus kicked one of Blaise's knees from behind, collapsing the Slytherin boy to the ground. Then, before anyone could stop him, Seamus kicked him squarely in the ribs, causing Blaise to fold into a fetal position. This kick galvanized Harry out of shock at Seamus' actions and into grabbing his wand. As he was preparing a spell Harry saw Seamus tense for another kick, his face drawn back in a grimace of anger. But before he could release, Draco had pulled out his wand as well, and both he and Harry muttered "_Petrificus Totalus_." Seamus had been doubly petrified, and Blaise had risen slowly to his feet.

"Dirty…rotten…stinking Irish piece of Half-blood Garbage!" He was going for Seamus, who was looking around frantically and trying to move his limbs, but this time Harry intervened. Before Blaise could take two steps, Harry had leapt in front of Seamus, his wand pointed at Zabini's throat.

"Don't you _touch_ him, Blaise," said Harry, and Draco again noticed that his voice had gone low and cold, a signal that the Raven haired boy was his angriest. Draco did not envy the look Blaise must be seeing in Harry's usually bright and friendly green eyes. Draco still shivered from the memory of the hard glint in them on the cliff after the train attack.

"He started it!' spat Blaise, who was nursing his side where Seamus had kicked him. Harry knew he was lying, but had stopped caring.

"I don't care who started it!" snapped Harry, moving his wand a little closer to Zabini's neck. "I don't care if you hate every single Gryffindor in this school, but by God, you will learn to _tolerate_ them!" He looked around at the assembled DA.

"I wanted to begin teaching you today. Defensive magic. Because I know for certain that darker days lie before us. Much darker than what has happened already. And I don't want to lose one more student." Harry's face snapped back to Blaise's "_ANY _student, Blaise!" Harry growled under his breath, a low, primal, guttural venting of his frustrations. Hermione had seldom heard such from Harry, and knew he was angrier than he had ever been.

"None of you get it, do you!?" he shouted, looking from one stony face to another. From Susan Bones, one of the few Hufflepuffs he knew and trusted, to Luna Lovegood, who trusted him without question. To Ron and Hermione. To Draco, the friend he never thought he would have. "There _are_ no Houses anymore! Not like there used to be! At times like this, when the world as we know it is self-destructing, there is no such thing as Gryffindor. I'm not a Gryffindor today. I'm Harry Potter, a wizard, and I live at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! If any of you look inside yourself, and feel pride for anything more specific than that, for your family ties, or for your bloodlines, and you think that it sets you above the rest of the school then _please_…just leave."

Blaise knew he was on the ropes, but turned to Draco, apparently still confident in his opposition to Harry. However, one look at Draco let him know that he would not find any help in that quarter.

"You will sign it," said Draco emotionlessly, save for a gleam in his eye. "Or you will leave, _without_ my, or anyone else's, protection.**"**

And then, as if to send his point home, Draco strode right up to Harry and shook his hand. Harry heard many of the people gasp, and even saw Blaise wince slightly.

"If I can learn to trust Draco Malfoy as much as I trust Ron or Hermione, then you can learn to accept each other!" said Harry, raising his voice again. "These quarrels are over! The rivalries end _now_." Harry looked around at the silent crowd. Hermione was staring at him, and he realized he was breathing a bit hard and could feel a sheen of sweat on his face. He had worked himself into an explosive and angry tirade without even realizing it.

"Now then," he said, regaining his composure. "Who wants to sign next, because we have much more important things to deal with tonight than petty arguments."

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"If you ever had any doubts about being a born leader, I think you just dashed them all to hell tonight," said Hermione from the couch in their Head Common Room. Harry lay crooked across the other couch, and smiled as she flicked a stray strand of hair out of her eyes again. "_The rivalries end now," _she said, putting on a voice that made Harry think she was impersonating Winston Churchill.

"I do not sound like that!" he said, throwing a pillow at her. She caught it deftly and chucked it back at him. It was so unexpected that he was caught unawares, and received a face full of cloth covered feathers for his troubles.

"No, Harry, you sounded fantastic. Absolutely fantastic." She smiled, and leaned back, stretching her arms the length of the couch, her head resting on the back, eyes focused on the ceiling.

"Thanks," said Harry. He straightened his body on his couch, forcing his eyes away from Hermione's lush curves, which were straining against her shirt as she stretched cat like against the couch. He cursed himself and closed his eyes hoping he was tired enough to drop straight into sleep. But even though it was late and he'd had a trying and exhausting day, he didn't feel tired. "Ok, here's my question, Hermione." Harry hoped hearing his voice would cause her to shift her position, thereby allowing him to relearn how to breathe. He heard Hermione lift her head from her couch and drop her arms to he sides. He let out a low quiet sigh. "The DA is over, for now at least. I don't have anything else eating at me. So why am I not feeling tired?"

"You're not worried anymore, so now you're excited instead," she said. "Believe me, I feel the same way. We all did great tonight. Even Draco."

"Especially Draco," said Harry, thinking back over the night, using his new buddy to block any inappropriate thoughts about Hermione. Draco had worked to keep all of his Slytherins in line. After the fight with Seamus, he had kept Blaise Zabini on a very short leash (almost as short a leash as Harry kept Seamus on). But both had kept quiet, and Harry was amazed at how quickly they all learned, and how much he enjoyed teaching. Harry left the Room of Requirement after two hours with a delighted lift in his stomach. It took him a moment to remember the last time he felt it, but then he remembered. It had been on the Quidditch pitch. _Maybe I'm more cut out for this teaching thing than I thought I was._ "Even so, I'll be in trouble if I can't get to sleep. It's not the weekend yet, and I can't afford to wake up late with all the work we've been given."

"So, you want to go to bed then?" asked Hermione. She sounded almost disappointed, which distracted him from the twitch in his gut at the question. Harry remembered how she said she hadn't been able to sleep lately either. Harry did want to go to sleep, but knew he'd end up just lying awake at this point anyway. There was too much energy, too much excitement still swirling around in his body, like a pot about to boil over. _If only there were some way to get rid of it_, he thought. And then he spied the radio.

"No, I don't want to go to bed, thanks," he said with a smile, getting up and switching the radio on. A sweet, soft music filled his ears. It sounded like an old dance hall tune to Harry, like something from a movie about World War Two. It wasn't really a waltz, or any other type of dance he could ascertain. It was just…a lovely beat. Harry closed his eyes. There were no drums. It was just a steady flow of horns and saxophones, the background horns creating the beat that the main horns followed. Each instrument built upon the next, creating a structure to the music that Harry found very pleasing indeed. Harry tapped his foot to the music, unaware that Hermione had walked up behind him until he felt her hand in his, pulling him away from the radio.

"_Moonlight Serenade,"_ she said, smiling.

"It's beautiful," said Harry. And then, taking her waist with his other hand spun her around into the middle of the floor.

"May I have this dance, Ms. Granger?" It was a cheesy line, and she knew that he knew it, but the way he said it, and they way he held her as he slowly spun her around the room still made Hermione swoon.

"Of course," she whispered, and once more they were swept up into the music, and into each other. Again, they felt their bodies free to express what neither of them had gotten the courage to say. And slowly, Harry's stature relaxed, until he was holding Hermione in his arms, once again breathing in her hair, once again feeling sparks trail across his fingertips where he touched her.

Hermione had her arms curled around his shoulders, her eyes closed. She moved with him, her head on his shoulder, not caring about any warnings her mind may be trying to send her. None penetrated the pure joy of her heart. In her mind, the room melted away, until she and Harry were in the middle of an empty dance floor, with a band that played only for them. Her mind filled the room with soft light, and a warm wooden dance floor clicked beneath their feet as Harry slowly turned her in soft circles. She knew she never wanted to open her eyes.

Then, the song drew to a close, and both listened, disappointedly, as the band held out the last note. Harry slid his fingers down her arms, up to where her hands rested at his neck. Slowly, unable to stop himself, not wanting to stop himself, needing just this moment in time to freely feel for her, he pulled her left hand to his lips and kissed her palm softly. A spark similar to static electricity, but not painful, jumped from her hand to his lips, and he pulled back suddenly. His eyes met hers, and they stood, motionless, the world blank but for each other, as a new song crackled out of the radio.

"Thanks for the dance," Harry murmured. "It helps me to…relax."

"…Anytime," whispered Hermione.

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The next evening, Hermione was watching the boys practice on the Quidditch Pitch when she an icy cold rush through her shoulder. The Grey Lady was there, looking at her with her peering, seeing eyes.

_You love him,_ she heard inside her mind. _Your thoughts are as open as the sea to me, child._ Hermione nodded.

_But I don't know if he feels the same,_ she said, helplessly.

_I spent my life alone cursing the missed opportunities of youth; the foolishness of being endlessly careful,_ said the Grey Lady. _You must discover the answer to this question, child. You must not live in fear of what splendors, or pains, may be._

Hermione gulped. _Now? But they are so high!_

_You must go; now, child, before it is too late. Take a broom. Do not fear anything but missed time_.

Hermione felt her legs push her body up from the bleachers and make their way over to the brooms along the side of the Quidditch Pitch. And then, without even realizing what she was doing, she had kicked off the ground. She felt the wind bite into her face and whip around her arms as she flew high; flew up to meet Harry, who was searching for the Snitch, his brow furrowed. The wind felt as if it were trying to pluck her arms from the broom. She struggled to maintain control, shouting out to Harry, trying to catch his attention. But the wind only blew harder, stealing her words as soon as they escaped her lips. Trembling, she flew higher, until Hogwarts had become a speck on the earth below. _Why won't he look and see me,_ she thought, as Harry flew ever higher, seeking the Snitch. Then Hermione saw it. It was floating near her head, darting close to her ears. She reached out, and felt her fingers close around the tiny ball. She brought it to her face, wondering how on earth she had managed to beat Harry to the Snitch, when she noticed that a name had been engraved on it. She peered closer, trying to make out the tiny engraving. And then she gasped.

The Snitch read _Ginny Weasley_.

Hermione dropped the ball in surprise, and watched it zoom away down the pitch. _That must be the Snitch she would have given him! The one her parents gave to him at his birthday party!_ Hermione turned her broom around, trying to follow the Snitch, but as she did, a tremendous gust of wind blew her off her broom, and into the night sky. She screamed for help, screamed for Harry, but as she fell, she could see him, still circling idly above her looking for a flash of gold.

_He never noticed I was even there._

She felt the wind whipping and stinging, bringing tears to her eyes that mingled with her tears over Harry's oblivious ignorance of her plight. There was nothing to stop her. The world was rushing up to meet her, zooming towards her at such a speed that she knew she would never survive.

_This is it_, she thought. _This is when I die…_

"Hermione!"

Hermione sat up so fast that Harry had to catch her to keep her from falling right off her bed. Hermione gasped, suddenly feeling a strong set of arms holding her close to a hard lean chest. _Did Harry see me? _She wondered, and then opened her eyes. She was in bed, pressed tightly to Harry, her arms wrapped tight around him. She could see her covers twisted tightly around her legs. She knew she had been tossing and turning. Her sheets always did that when she was having nightmares.

_It was only a dream,_ she thought. But such a horrible dream. And for more reasons than just the falling.

"You alright?" said Harry, nervously, able to feel her heart thundering at what had to be an unnatural pace. He had never been the best at comforting people when they were scared. Bravery he could muster, but he wasn't very good at putting people at ease. Unsure of what else he could do, he kept his arms around Hermione, slowly rubbing her back with his hands. Hermione closed her eyes again and buried her face in his neck.

"Yes. It was just another dream. Another stupid nightmare." Hermione took a deep breath and smelled Harry, and even as the familiar ache clenched her heart his scent comforted her and calmed her nerves.

"Falling?" asked Harry. He felt her skin, which was tacky with sweat. _She must have been terrified, _he thought.

"Yes," said Hermione. She felt herself calming down again. His hands were warm and strong through the shirt she wore to bed. She was just beginning to relax into his soothing touch when he said something that nearly put her back into the nightmare.

"Alright, then. I figure I should take you flying tomorrow." Hermione's eyes shot wide open and she pulled out of his embrace, searching his face.

"And that's supposed to make me feel better, how?"

"Look, if you just get a few good experiences on a broom, I'm sure the nightmares will go away too. And then we can _both _get a good night's sleep." Harry's hands moved to rub her arms, trying to comfort as he saw her trying to fight back her fears.

Hermione shivered. She had been dreaming of falling since before she knew she was a witch, before she knew why she should even be scared of it. But then, she looked into Harry's eyes. They were soft and bright and purely confident. The world above was his domain, and it was something that he desperately wanted to share with her. _And besides,_ said a voice_, you do still owe him a ride._

"Will…will you promise that I'll be safe?" she asked.

"I'll always keep you safe, Hermione." Harry pulled her back into his arms, holding her tight against him. He broke a little and buried his nose in her soft hair for just a moment before whispering, "Always."

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"Well, are you ready to fly?" Hermione was looking queasy, glancing at the sky, back down to the broom clenched in her hand, and then back up at the sky again.

"No," she said, fidgeting. "But, you know…yes…" Harry grinned, with his own broom lying obediently in the grass at his feet.

"Alright. Oh, by the way, I had to convince Ajax to give us both some time outside tonight and that was only by agreeing he could keep pace with us. So just try and ignore him." Harry sighed as he glanced at the hulking Griffin a mere 25 feet from them. "Don't think it would've happened if Zephyra hadn't been with him. I swear… I can hardly take a deep breath outside without him flying over to see if I've broken something."

"He's just a little overprotective," said Hermione. "And I do think that if he's this worried about the two of us getting on brooms, then I think we should really respect his wishes and stay off of brooms altogether…"

"Oh, no you don't!" said Harry, grinning. "He'll be keeping an eye on us, so we'll be safe. And don't worry. Once you get the hang of it, this will be a piece of cake." He tried to give her the most winning look he could. "With a teacher like me, you'll be up in the air within ten minutes, no problem."

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Ten minutes later, Harry was prepared to chuck it in and go looking for a reliable automobile. It wasn't only that Hermione obviously did not want anything to do with a broom that wasn't aimed at dust mites; it was that the broom also noticed it. Every time Hermione even got close to flying on her broom, it would act like nothing so much as a skittish young foal, zigzagging away from her, Hermione chasing after it. Finally, after a spectacular effort, Hermione was able to tackle her mischievous broom, and straddle it. Harry was looking slightly queasy himself right now. Her flying lesson no longer looked…promising to him.

"Alright, Broom!" cried Hermione, visibly shaking, "UP!" Harry couldn't watch. But he did anyway. He was mildly surprised (with both Hermione and the broom) as she floated up to hover at a wobbly five feet. Hermione broke into a shaky smile.

"Maybe…It's not so bad up here…OH!" This time, Harry really couldn't watch. But he flinched as he heard it. There was a resounding _thwump_ as Hermione spilled off the broom and landed directly into a wet puddle of mud. Harry ran over, trying to conceal his silent laughter as Hermione rubbed her backside, looking highly embarrassed, but undeniably cute with a smudge of mud across her cheek.

"Anything injured?" asked Harry and he reached down and lifted her to her feet.

"Nothing more than my pride…Ow. And my spine." She smiled sheepishly trying to distract him from the way her body seemed to be leaning towards his.

"_Scourgify_," said Harry, pointing his wand at Hermione. The mud disappeared, but Hermione's sour expression did not.

"Those things are _terrible._ You'd think that after hundreds of years of advancement, and power beyond the wildest dreams of Muggles, that we'd be able to invent a mode of transportation that isn't completely _useless_ and seriously dangerous"

Harry wanted to tell her all the benefits that brooms had, but was having trouble coming up with a way that Hermione would understand, or accept. Instead, he satisfied himself by saying, "Hermione, you sure you want to do this?"

"YES," said Hermione, testily, as she stomped off to chase down her broom, which after her last attempt seemed to not want anything to do with her. "I don't want to have to be rescued again Harry, even though it was _very _nice of you to do that for me." '_Nice,' yeah that's how I felt with you pressed against me_, Harry thought, viciously. He really needed to stamp down his feelings for her. "I never want to be a burden, and I have yet to meet a problem I couldn't solve!"

"You may be looking at this in the wrong light," replied Harry, blowing out a breath. "It's not a problem, it's a…a treat! Flying is one of the most amazing feelings in the world."

"Yes," said Hermione, "But unfortunately, it also involves the high probability of falling to a gruesome and bloody death." She finally stopped chasing the skittish broom and huffed, damning the thing to every circle of Dante's Hell she could think of. She stamped her foot, which sadly splattered mud all over her robes again. "USELESS!" she muttered, spinning on her heel to begin packing up her bag.

"Wait!" Harry called. Hermione stopped. "_Scourgify." _Hermione smiled.

"Thanks." _There was that clench in the belly again, over a smile. Bloody hell, Potter, you're skirting the edge here!_ Harry berated himself, hoping to snap himself out of his feelings for her.

"Don't mention it," he said. "Look, you've just got to take this from another point of view." He paused and paced two lengths before stopping in front of her. "Most of the flying you've done so far has only been in a life or death situation, or on top of winged beasts. You might need a different sort of flight…" Harry suddenly had an idea. He jumped on his broom and pulled to a stop in front of her. "You want to learn to fly? Jump on."

Hermione paused. "I don't know, Harry. Maybe it was all too much…"

"Hermione, have you ever been in a pool when the water is cold? And you creep in, and creep in because your body's telling you it doesn't want to get into the cold. And then, when the water gets to your suit, it seeps in, and freezes you to death." She nodded a puzzled but curious look on her face. He could almost see the gears starting up in her head attempting to jump ahead and figure out his metaphor before his finished it. _Tack that onto the list of things I find adorable about her…_Mentally Harry shook himself and tried to focus back on what he was saying. "The point is, baby steps will only hurt. You have to go faster, take chances; take risks you normally wouldn't. Here," he said, holding out his arm to Hermione, who was still looking slightly dubious. "Take my hand." Hermione stared at him briefly before putting a trembling hand into his. Her hands were icy as she climbed on behind Harry, but her arms were strong as they wrapped around him for support. Harry's blood pumped faster and his stomach clenched as she pressed against his back.

Hermione felt an intense heat burn within her at every point that they touched. _That spark again…_thought Hermione, _will it ever burn out? Or will I forever react to him like this? React with such fire even when there is no tinder to set it ablaze?_ The thought was almost enough to distract her from the fact that she was being supported on a thin piece of wood hovering feet off the ground. Almost.

"Enough baby steps," said Harry. "Today, you jump IN!"

Without warning, Harry kicked away from the ground, and shot into the clear night sky, Hermione suddenly squeezing so hard he could barely breathe. Harry felt wonderfully at home being back in the night sky again, and once Hermione relaxed a bit she found it surprisingly comfortable to be behind him on a broom again. _This is much better than the last broom ride we had, _she thought.

But Harry wasn't about to let her go with just a leisurely spin around the pitch. He leant forward on the broom, pulling Hermione's arms with him, which shot the broom off toward the lake like an arrow. To his right, he saw Ajax pacing him, keeping his promise that he would not lose sight of the two of them. The wind felt marvelously refreshing as he reached the lake, and Harry felt amazing. So amazing, he hardly noticed at first as Hermione bent lower and muttered in his ear, "Must slow down…MUST SLOW DOWN…SLOW DOWN SLOW DOWN SLOW DOWN SLOW DOWN!"

"What are we doing tonight?" he said, glancing back at her, with a grin.

"J…Jumping in!" said Hermione, her eyes wide.

"Exactly. Now trust me, I won't let you get hurt. Ease up." He patted her arms with a hand, hoping she'd get the signal. It took a moment, but Hermione didn't disappoint him. Slowly her hands loosened and slid from tight against his stomach to slowly to grip his hips. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open and focused on the land in front of him. _She didn't mean it to be provocative. Again, that's just you, you raging hormonal pillock!_ He leaned back a bit, forcing her to sit up more on her own balance. "Just let go, Hermione," he whispered. Slowly, ever so slowly, he felt Hermione let go of her tension, and as her hands relaxed he slowed down the broom until they were sitting upright on it and gliding slowly just a few feet over the lake.

"It's beautiful at night," Hermione whispered. "You know, that wonderful room we have, it even knows what view of Hogwarts I want, and so it overlooks the lake. And sometimes, if I can't sleep, I stay up reading, propped up on pillows on the windowsill. I love the reflection of the mountains in the water, especially on a still night like this. Where the water is so smooth it looks like mirror. I love how it reflects the world around us."

"Like there are suddenly two different worlds, one real, one imaginary," said Harry. He had grown to love looking at things like that. It was almost like…

"It's almost like nature's own magic," said Hermione. Harry froze. He was just thinking that. "Exactly." He whispered, turning his head to hers, and seeing that Hermione eyes were gleaming with warmth. He turned back, afraid she'd see his feelings, his growing desperation for her, and not wanting to get lost in her eyes this close to the lake. He leaned forward, bringing the Firebolt lower, until he could skim the water with his fingertips, causing lines to appear in the reflections of the mountains, breaking chasms into the imaginary world reflected in the lake. After a while, Harry glanced over his shoulder again, to see Hermione lazily dragging her fingers through the water, and then flicking the water onto her face.

"So, how do you enjoy flying?" He said.

"Maybe it's not as bad as all of that," she said smiling abashedly. "Of course, it's much easier when I have such an amazing teacher." She was hoping that this would cause him to smile, or laugh, or maybe just to kiss her outright. What she got instead was a wicked smirk.

"I haven't been flying for the past five minutes, Hermione! It's all been you. And one handed as well! Excellent points for style and grace. The British judge gives you a 10!"

The fact that she was controlling the broom broke Hermione out of her stupor, and she began to swing the broom crazily. Now that she knew she was in control, she began to lose control. Quickly, Harry grabbed the handle again.

"Slow down, Hermione! You were doing it before. You can do it now. Just slow down!" Hermione willed herself to calm down. _For Harry,_ she thought. _You can do this. For him…_

Slowly, Hermione glided their way over to the shoreline again. She swung off the broom, as Harry steadied it, onto wobbling legs, right as Ajax dropped to the ground in front of them.

"Such trickery on the broom! I thought for a moment you would fall into the lake, and THEN what could become of you? Grindylows, the Giant Squid, merpeople, _pneumonia!?_ You, young man, are to take this young lady back to the castle immediately! In all my years…"

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An hour had passed, and Harry and Hermione were located in their usual positions on the wonderfully comfortable couches. Hermione was looking lazily over at Harry, and Harry looked right back.

"How are you doing, Hermione?" he asked, waving over at her.

"I'm fine, Harry. A-OK."

Harry grinned. "Can you sleep?" He got up and moved toward the radio again.

Hermione rose, slowly, to her feet.

"Not a wink." She smirked.

The music soon soared around them once more, taking them to far off lands of their own imagination. Soon, Harry noticed that Hermione was becoming heavier in his arms, and that her legs were no longer moving with the music. He looked over, and saw that she was asleep on his shoulder. Carefully, and as delicately as he could, Harry swung her up and into his arms. She was light and soft against his chest as he carried her gently to the couch. Then, taking a blanket that was usually draped over the back of the couch, he tucked her in. Harry looked at the sleeping face of his best friend. And silently hoped that one day, she may become something much more.

The music changed. The new song, although nice, was a little too loud. Not wanting to wake Hermione, Harry walked over to the radio and switched off. As he did, he heard a slight gasp behind him. Hermione had woken up.

"Don't go," she whispered. "Not yet."

"Wasn't going anywhere," said Harry, kneeling down next to the couch, and lightly taking her hand in his. "What's the matter, more bad dreams? Dreams of falling?"

"No," said Hermione, closing her eyes. "Dreams of flying. Only this time, you were there. Like earlier tonight."

"Then why do you want me to stay?" he said, absurdly happy he was in her dreams…even if it was only a replay of her day. "Sounds like a good dream to me."

"It doesn't hold a candle to reality," said Hermione, sleepily. "I can finally sleep again. But now that I can…I find…all I want is for this night…not to end…"

And then, with Harry's hand holding hers, his other stroking the hair off of her face, his fingers trailing soft against her skin, she fell asleep, dreaming of flying. Only in her dream, she did not need a broom. She only needed Harry, and her soul flew though the treetops.

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Chapter 17 coming up soon! Many thanks to M for ALL of her edits (Especially the sappy ones). Do you like this story? Then tell me why on the reviews!


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer. I, as per usual, own none of this. Much thanks to my editor, M, who I've promised an H/Hr kiss to…soon. Muaha.

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The Church of St. Michael had finally locked its doors, and Father David Callahan breathed a sigh of relief. All Hallow's Eve had long been a traditional Mass, but the neighborhood around the church had changed, even if the Mass had not. _Five cherry bombs, three rolls of toilet paper in the trees…_He saw that someone had poured red dye into the baptismal font. _And a partridge in a pear tree_. If only church were mandatory, he thought, he would make sure all the drunken hooligans who had done this would be sitting up front tomorrow at the All Saint's Mass. And he would give them a very loud sermon. And make them ring the bells as penance. Chuckling to himself, the parson made his way around to all the doors, checking to make sure the church was securely locked. _Better haul out the padlocks tonight. Who knows what the brats will do if they get in here…_

It was then he noticed that someone had already managed to find a way in. A rustling near the confessional made him turn, and he saw a black cloak before the door to the tiny box slammed shut. Callahan grumbled to himself. _A full grown man wearing a cape? Some people just refuse to grow up!_ He strolled over to the confessional, wistfully thinking of his bed and the bottle of brandy that awaited him.

"We are closed, sir," he said, rapping on the door. There was no reply, but he heard a slow, steady breath from behind the door. Father Callahan rolled his eyes. _Probably waiting on the other side with a half dozen water balloons._

"Sir, I _saw_ you enter this confessional, now please open the door!" Again, no one heeded his call. Resigning himself to a soggy greeting, Father Callahan reached for the handle of the small door.

Before he could push it completely open, the door sprung inward, and a pale hand wrenched him in after it. Father Callahan heard the door slam behind him. The room was utterly dark, but he could distinctly hear a man's breath. Suddenly, a light burst from the corner of the small box. Father Callahan saw a tall, thin man with a mane of greasy black hair. He was holding what looked like a wand…_but it can't be a wand!_ He thought. This was Halloween, but there were limits to what he would believe. Suddenly, the light went out again, and Father Callahan felt the tip of whatever it was the man was holding against his throat.

"You should have heard my confession, Father," whispered the man silkily. "I could have told you that I have killed people before, and am willing to do so again. For instance, if you _had _heard my confession, I would have told you that I have killed men for things such as making too much noise when I am attempting to conceal myself." The man dug his wand deeper into his throat, as if to emphasize this point. Father Callahan struggled to keep his voice calm and subdued.

"Just…take whatever you want, and please leave," he sputtered, not daring to rise above a whisper.

"There is nothing here that I want, Father. Nothing except to _leave_, and as quickly as possible. Now, as long as you don't cause any trouble and answer my questions, I won't be forced to make you serve your penance to _me_…now tell me, where is the fireplace?"

"The what?" said Father Callahan in disbelief.

"The fireplace, sir, the fireplace. You have one here. It is usually kept lit, and it is connected to another location where I would very much like to be. Now where?"

Father Callahan couldn't believe that this bizarre, malevolent stranger knew about this fireplace. It was tradition for the old fireplace in the basement to be kept lit at all times; it was also tradition that no one knew about it except the priest at the site. No one had ever really explained it to Father Callahan; it had just been a part of his daily ritual. _But if he knows about it, perhaps it would be alright to take him to it._ He thought. Anyway, it was better than being skewered on this man's stick.

"In the basement, first door on your left."

"Thank you, Father. Now, if I may intrude upon your hospitality for a few minutes more, I would ask that you not come downstairs for the next half hour. I need solitude for what I shall…"

Suddenly there was a knock at the door, this one loud and forceful. The dark man turned quickly, sucking in his breath.

"I didn't think that they would find me this quickly…"

"Who?" asked the Father, rather startled. The dark man turned quickly to silence him.

"Trick or treaters," he replied. "But I would advise not opening the doors to them. This church has been blessed with protection you do not know of. Allow them inside, and whatever protection you had will vanish. Now excuse me…"

And with a silky swish, the dark man was gone.

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Severus Snape didn't like where he was going. Of course, these days, he didn't like much of anything. Where he was going, where he had been, it all seemed to be swirling around him, like thick clouds of hate boiling off of a frothing cauldron of resentment. His only contentment was that he was doing his job; the job that Professor Dumbledore had assigned him before he died…before he had been killed.

_He had to die_, thought Snape bitterly. He knew it was true, but the thought gave him no comfort. He had been forced to kill the greatest wizard in a millennia, just so he couldjoin the most feared. And all for a group of people he hated, and who hated him right back. He had to join with the "Heroic" Boy Who Lived, the boy who seemed to be the Wizarding World's greatest hope of defeating the Dark Lord. _But it wouldn't matter if Potter destroyed the Dark Lord single-handedly; his father's blood damns him as a villain before he even pulls out his wand_

In the basement, an old ornate fireplace crackled merrily with a large fire. Snape heard the door bang again upstairs, but it sounded like the priest was taking his advice. He knew that Dumbledore had set protection on this church years ago, and had made sure that there would always be a fire lit. The fire in the basement of the church was connected to only one other location. Dumbledore knew the importance of having a rallying point, and had set up several fireplaces around England with the express purpose of getting allies where they needed to be, and quickly. This precaution preceded even the Order of the Phoenix, back to the days when the wizards of London were battling the forces of the dark wizard Grindelwald in the streets during the blitz; the bombs had been very useful in covering up many magical encounters of this sort.

Snape pulled a small bag out of his pocket, flue powder was always good to have, for you never knew when you'd need it, and he tossed a small pinch of it into the fire, which sprang up immediately, bright green. He casually stepped into the fire, and said "The Sanctuary."

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The white curtains of the hospital ward billowed slightly in a soft breeze, giving a ghostly feeling to the dark room. Lord John Marbury had kept his promise to the Minister of Magic, and had supplied over a hundred medics from the SAS. All one hundred were promised a large pay stipend and the chance to forget everything if they so wished. But the medics knew it wasn't necessary; no one would believe them anyway. The new recruits, however, had done little to control the swell of incoming patients, or to save the lives of those already there. Slowly, wards at St. Mungo's were being reopened, but there was still an air of rushed anxiety in the Hogwarts Hospital. Madame Pomfrey had given partial control of the wing to James Barrie, who had so far proved both willing and able to deal with the death and sorrow around him. The moon showed the dark shadows under his eyes, making him look even more tired than ever. But he still seemed to be in good spirits, and his energy kept the Hospital Ward buzzing with a positive feeling, with the knowledge that they were helping; that they were making a difference.

But the doctors were all gone at this hour of the night. Even Barrie, who maintained a nearly constant vigil over the survivors of the St. Mungo's Massacre, was nowhere to be found. Only the patients remained, all laying in the hundreds of beds that had been squeezed into the Ward. The smell of blood still lingered in the air, mixed with the nauseating smell of the chemicals Muggles used in hospitals to cover it up. But to Harry, it was like trying to cover the stench of a septic tank by squeezing lemon juice over the opening. The stench, the blood, the evil ran deeper than could be cleaned by any substance, magic or Muggle. The room was cursed with the sad reminders of a thousand hurts, and now, with the tears of those mourned dead.

_The blood won't come out._

Harry walked from bed to bed, gazing sadly into the eyes of his departed friends. Colin Creevey, lying next to his brother Dennis. Lavender Brown, deathly still, her final tears still staining her dirt-smeared face. Seamus Finnegan lay with a look of twisted anguish on his face, which fit with the terrible slit running across his throat. Rows and rows of beds, with rows and rows of former students, former soldiers, now dead and gone, never to return. And at the end of the hall, just past Neville, were Ron and Hermione. Or rather, what was left of Harry's two best friends. Ron's body lay mangled, impossible to clean after the explosion that had taken his life. Hermione, however, stared serenely up at the ceiling, her beautiful skin as smooth as marble, and as pale as the freshly fallen snow. She had been killed right in front of him. A final punishment for his impudence. Harry knelt before her bed, unable to believe that Hermione was actually gone.

"You promised," he whispered softly in her ear. "You promised me you'd never leave me. But you did. You left too soon. I'd hardly gotten enough time with you. I'd barely begun to love…to love you. Why did you have to leave me? Why did you all have to die?"

"Why did you kill us, Harry?" Harry's head shot up. Hermione's mouth was open, but her voice seemed to be traveling from a great distance, from a place that Harry could not see.

"Why did you kill me, if you loved me? And Ron. Ron was a brother to you. Why did you kill him? Why did you kill all of us?"

"I didn't!" cried Harry, taking a step back from Hermione's corpse. "It wasn't me! It was Voldemort! It was him! And his Death Eaters! _They_ killed you!"

"Why did you lead us against them, Harry?" asked Ron, his burned face still gazing skyward. "We're not an army. We didn't even have any real training! What, was my sister not enough for you? You had to send more of us to our deaths, all because you can't stand bowing to a powerful wizard? Why does my mother have to see me like this now, Harry? _Why did you kill us?_"

Ron sat straight up in bed, his dead, penetrating eyes turning towards Harry. As Harry gazed in horror at the twisted visage of his former best friend, all the rest of them sat up as well.

"_YOU KILLED US, HARRY. WHY DID YOU KILL US?"_

"Why did you kill us?" asked Colin and Dennis, holding hands and pointing toward him. The rest of the corpse's hands shot up as well. Hands missing fingers, some merely bloody stumps torn of at the elbow.

"Why did you kill me?" asked Seamus, his voice gasping and cracking as it passed through his ripped throat.

"Why did you kill us?" asked Lavender and Pavarti, tears once more streaming out of their eyes.

"Why'd you kill me, Harry? Me and Ginny?" Ron's twisted body was dragging itself across the floor, pulling one mangled leg behind him. "Why did you kill Hermione?"

Harry suddenly felt a pair of cold, clammy arms wrap themselves around his neck. The pressure was crushing him, cutting off air. _"Why did you kill me?" _whispered Hermione in his ear. The touch he had so longed for was slowly draining him of life.

"_And why…" _she whispered, _"did you kill THEM?"_ Hermione grabbed his hair, and yanked his head up, so he could see in front of him. There, standing with their eyes wide in terror, the mark of the Killing Curse forever etched on their faces, were the four people he missed most in the world. His father, his mother, Sirius, and Professor Dumbledore. "Why did you kill us, Harry?" groaned the Professor. Harry felt the arms constrict painfully around his throat, cutting off the scream that was trying to escape. He couldn't scream. He couldn't breathe, he could only watch as the dead crowded around him, begging for an explanation he didn't have…

"WAKE UP!"

Harry awoke right before the second slap landed, and from the way it was thrown, Harry could tell that Hermione thought the first hadn't done its job. His brain worked furiously for a moment before he opened his eyes. His beside clock filled his vision; it was 1:45. He'd only been asleep for all of an hour, and his brain let him know its displeasure. Nothing seemed to be focused correctly.

"Ouch! I'm up, I'm up!"

"Sorry," said Hermione, massaging her hand. "I heard you in the other room, even with the door closed. I thought you were through with these dreams!"

"I thought I was too," said Harry, massaging his jaw, but silently thrilled to see one of his friends alive in front of him, and not blaming him for their deaths. "Maybe one of Fred and George's new candies didn't agree with my sleep." It had been one of the wildest Halloween feasts Harry could remember having at Hogwarts. Everyone seemed to be celebrating the fact that they had made it as far as they had by making as much noise as possible, which was only exacerbated by the surprise appearance of Fred and George Weasley, each dressed in jester's caps and carrying in sacks of candy for the students. Harry had almost pitied the unknowing first years; they got the message not to trust the candy after five of them grew noses as long as swords.

"Pinnochio Pasties!" cried George. "Plenty for all, and get them while you can for free; they're 2 sickles a piece tomorrow, only at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes!"

Harry rubbed his eyes. The happy memories of the earlier celebrations just couldn't keep his mind off of what he had just awoken from.

"So it wasn't…you know, one of _his_ dreams?"

"Voldemort's?" said Harry. He stretched his mind back thinking of the times he had been able to see into the Dark Lord's mind. But this hadn't happened. It was impossible. It couldn't happen. "No, just a simple nightmare." Hermione sat down on the side of the bed, untangling the blankets that had been wrapped around Harry during the night.

"You really ought to tell your subconscious to give you a break," she said a small smile on her lips.

"Sure, I'll let it know that, next time I see it." Hermione rolled her eyes, but Harry had gotten serious again.

"It's just a feeling…I suppose." He looked into Hermione's eyes. "Do you think what I'm doing is right?"

Hermione looked shocked. "Of course I do! How could you think you weren't doing the right thing?"

"It's just…I'm putting so many lives in danger, teaching them how to stand up and fight. Who can say that they won't die?"

"Who can say they won't die if they don't fight, Harry?" Hermione looked sternly at him. "At least now you're giving them a fighting chance! And they all wanted to be a part of it. If they hadn't, they wouldn't have shown up to the meeting." She placed a soothing hand in his. "You're letting your dreams get the best of you. They're just the work of a mind with too much time on its hands. Don't let these fantasies dictate the life you lead."

"But my parents," said Harry. "And Ginny. And Dumbledore. I can't ignore my responsibility in their deaths-" He was stopped when Hermione shook him hard by the shoulders, her eyes blazing with anger.

"Don't you dare say that, Harry! You're not responsible for them! Your parents died saving you; they made that choice, there was nothing you could do! What would you have done as a one year old? Crawled over to Lord Voldemort and pummel his foot with your baby fists? And Dumbledore wanted what happened to happen. He may not have wanted to die, but he certainly wanted you to live, he wanted to save Draco from a horrible future! His time was over, he knew that. And plus, you were petrified and invisible at the time. And as for Ginny…" Hermione blinked back a few tears. "I know it was hard for you, to see her go like that, right in front of you. It was hard for all of us. But you're not any more responsible for the deaths of those people than I am. Ginny was strong; she had a fire that I thought would never die, and she proved her strength that day. It took someone supremely evil to take her from us! And I know that person wasn't you. Just as I know there was nothing, _nothing_, you could have done in that second to protect her. So don't you _dare_ start to think that you're responsible, just because an idiotic dream made you feel like you were."

Harry closed his eyes, trying to forget all that he saw. Then, a strange sense of foreboding came over him.

"You don't think that he's back inside my head, do you?"

Hermione looked dubious. "I wouldn't think so. He's got just as much to lose as you, if you happen to catch a glimpse of any of his plans. I'll bet he's built up fortifications to make sure you're not going to be able to get _in._ Why? You've been clearing your mind before going to sleep, haven't you?"

Harry thought of how he had been thinking of Hermione the past few nights before going to sleep; how he had dreamed of kissing her, and how before that, he had generally forgotten to clear his mind at all. _Part of hating Snape is that I tend to disregard any advice he may have given me._

"Of course I've cleared it," said Harry, mustering a look of honesty. "Blank as the look on Goyle's face during History of Magic. Or any other time, for that matter." The visual brought a grin to Hermione's face, but she soon looked serious again.

"You know Harry, you're good at a lot of things. One of the best wizards I've ever met. But you can't lie to me. Your eyes start glancing all around, like you're trying to see if anyone's watching you. So I guess that means you _haven't_ been clearing your mind, which means you _should_ be. What have you been thinking about then?" she added playfully.

"Quidditch," said Harry quickly, and cursing his eyes for betraying him again. Even in his own mind, it sounded bad. _Quidditch? I should never say Quidditch. Broomsticks are so…Freudian!_

"Well, make sure you get your mind off the game tonight. It's not likely he'll be trying to get in, but you can never be too careful. In fact, I'd say you should wear your glasses to bed. They have the built in Occlumency, remember. I do have to say that the twins do come up with some fantastic ideas."

"Yeah," said Harry. "Though, I'm not totally convinced about their Gender Bender gumdrops. I don't think I want to know what it's like in the body of a member of the opposite sex for an hour at a time."

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Snape had seen five fireplaces already. Three were caved in, one had a brightly lit Muggle kitchen peeking through the smoke, and the last was dark, and full of muttering voices he did not trust. At last, he _whooshed_ to a stop in an old, echoing landscape. Cautiously, he took a step outside the fireplace, and found himself inside what looked like a disused portion of the London Underground. Snape knew that Dumbledore had actually stopped the advance of the Underground to a few choice locations, and had set the locations up to look like the ruins of a transit station. But in fact, they were fortresses. Each was Unplottable, fortified, and most importantly, the last place any Dark Wizard would look. Snape knew that a few Boggarts had been released near the station, so that any Muggles nearby would see their worst fears and flee. This led to many rumors of alligators loose in the sewers, rats the size of beavers, and many other horror stories that Snape remembered Dumbledore considering pretty hilarious.

_Enough of that,_ Snape thought viciously. There was no need to dwell on the past, no need for sentimentality. There was only the promise he had made; the promise that led him back to the Order, to the school, and to the very person he had come to despise. No matter how much he wished it weren't so, Severus Snape had a job to complete.

The long chamber outside the fireplace trickled with a hundred tiny waterfalls, giving the chamber a feeling of being in a cave. But Snape knew he was only a few dozen feet under the ground, behind a firmly bolted door that said, in the most blatant way possible that entrance was not permitted. Snape felt the water seep up into his shoes, as he made his way down the dark corridor, past an old train from the 1940's. Dumbledore had made the hiding place look like nothing more than an abandoned railway, but it was actually bursting with magical activity. Magical activity that Snape had been counting on. _They need to know I'm home. Any minute now, they'll know I'm back on their side…_

"You're lucky I knew you were comin'."

Snape whirled in surprise, and saw a man sitting on top of the train, swigging from a bottle of rum. The man, wearing a trenchcoat, smelled of cigarettes and booze. And at a deeper level, sulfur.

"I'm just sayin'. A man with your hair and skin tone? I would've stabbed you with a stake and buried you in garlic if I hadn't known you always look like a vampire." Snape grimaced. He knew John Constantine, but that didn't mean he had to like him.

"And judging by your smell, I should have brought a fire extinguisher, Constantine. What are you doing here?"

"Just here to lend a friendly face. I heard rumblings that you were planning to leave. Of course, the problem is that no one knows whether you are running _from_ or running _to_, if you know what I mean. And even if you're coming back to the Order, there's no way to know whether or not you can be trusted. So, whose side are you on tonight?"

Snape smiled. "The same side I've always been on. My own."

"A noble cause, Severus." Constantine jumped down from his perch, and handed the bottle to Snape. "Big damn hero." Snape took the bottle, and took a long swig from it. _Running can be thirsty work_. "Of course that whole nonchalant on-my-own-side thing would be more colorful if it were true." Just as quickly, the bottle came down again.

"You think I'm working for some other person?"

"I think you've got a chip on your shoulder, a chip you inherited both from your dad and your mum. It's all terrible and tragic that your dad was an abusive Muggle, and your mum never stood up for herself; equally tragic that you had to be a witness to it all. But I'll bet you a plate full of fried gold that you're not on this journey for them. You're also not on it for you. You've done your part, and for your trouble, Snape, the world on both sides of the fence hates your weaseling little guts. Now, you're trying to head back to the side that you betrayedin the first place. And I'd surmise that when someone is changing sides as much as you, when someone is jumping around like the groom's prick at the bachelor's party, then you've got some secrets you haven't shared."

Constantine could feel the glare that Snape was shooting him. It felt like a blast of cold air. He smiled. _Good. I can still piss the bugger off._

"Well, if what you think is true, then I wouldn't exactly tell you, Constantine, now would I?."

"No need, Paleface. I'm strictly on a need to know basis. And all I really need to know is that you are back on the side of the angels again."

"I told you, I'm always on my side. The best side to be on."

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The choking ash that clouded Harry's vision had already caked the ground like blackened snow, causing each step to stand out vividly in the desolate landscape. The tracks reminded Harry of the pictures of man's first few footsteps on the moon, a defiant march into an uninhabitable terrain. The ground felt like a thin, worn carpet, and he knew it wouldn't give him much traction if he needed to run. _But, I suppose, running isn't the idea right now._

So lost was he in his own thinking, Harry failed to notice that a large chunk of the wall next to him suddenly collapsed. This had only barely become recognizable as a problem before Harry felt a pair of hands grab him and pull him behind the smoldering ruins of an upside down car. The same pair of hands smacked him lightly in the forehead with one of the palms.

"You got your head out of the clouds, Potter? Because next time I might just let you go squish." Draco had his wand out, and was trying to monitor both sides of the street at once, even though the ash was beginning to make visibility impossible.

"Wish you would, Malfoy," snapped Harry, who was massaging his head vigorously. "I wouldn't have to listen to you moan about our training anymore."

"We're not all that eager to get killed before the big fight even gets here. In fact, some of us are eager to live on after the big fight. And just because you like to spend a few hours dodging bolts from a volley of illusionary Death Eaters doesn't mean I have to enjoy this weekly exercise in tedium."

"Maybe if you'd shut up, it would be over sooner!"

"Maybe if you'd stop thinking about Hermione in her training outfit, I wouldn't have to save you every other minute." Harry froze momentarily, panicked that Draco, of all people, seemed to know his deepest heart's desire. Soon enough his anger burned off the panic and Harry felt he could face the other student.

"Maybe you should watch your mouth, Draco." Harry had suddenly become icy cold, and Draco knew he was dangerous when he was like this.

"Alright, I'm only thinking that the sooner you ask her out, the sooner you'll be a good leader, and I won't have to risk my life as much. Or maybe I'll do it for you, save you some time." Suddenly Harry was inches from his face and practically vibrating, his voice low and cold.

"You want to be careful here, Ferret-Face. I don't let anyone other than Ron talk to me like this."

Draco grinned. "I know; Ron was the one who told me to tell you to ask her out."

Harry was torn between laughing at the absurdity of getting romantic advice from a former enemy and attacking Draco himself, when a Death Eater did the job for him.

"Hell!" spat Draco, as a green bolt of energy shot past their hiding spot, and exploded a nearby shop window into a thousand shards.

"Now you see what happens when you mock my leadership abilities," said Harry, still mentally checking off the supplies he would need to make a Malfoy voodoo doll. "I don't think we can stay here much longer. Hermione and her section of the DA are past the third shop on the left. I can see Luna's hair from here. And you were with Ron-Where the hell is he now, anyway?"

"Pinned behind the trolley. Half his men are out already, and Pavarti is whining about how we've ruined her nails." Harry rolled his eyes. Some of his "recruits" tended to miss the big picture of these exercises.

"Tell her I'll buy her a bottle of polish next time we're in Hogsmeade. And tell Ron to get ready to give me some cover. I'm going to go straight up the middle."

Draco did the quietest double take he could. "The middle? You don't think it would be simpler just to jump off a cliff? Into boiling lava?"

"No, Draco, I'm saving that for you." Harry threw Draco a smirk and a wink.

"I was wondering what our first date would be." This drew a surprised "Ha!" from the raven-haired leader of the DA. "Try not to get yourself killed playing the hero."

"Thanks," said Harry. "Try to remember what side you're on!"

"Will do!" cried Draco over his shoulder, as he clambered over a pile of rubble, dodging blasts of green and red light.

Harry drew a dagger from a small sheath on his belt. Lupin lent him this weapon whenever they did their mock battles, to give Harry the practice of fighting with two weapons at once. The wand was good for long range attacks, but Harry found the dagger was actually very good for close hand to hand, and caught many magical enemies off guard. He had also become quite adept at throwing it, much to the chagrin of house elves who had to clean up the chunks carved out of doors around Gryffindor House. But now, it wasn't useful so much as a weapon but as a mirror. Harry tilted the blade, and saw that Draco had made it back to Ron's hiding place. _Now or never_, he thought, and shot up a small flare from his wand. At the sign, Ron and his squad all jumped up behind the car and began firing hexes over Harry's head. Harry knew the diversion wouldn't stop the simulated Death Eaters long, and soon he'd be out in the open with lots of attention. He made a break up the middle of the street, trying to find cover wherever he could, and made it as far as the crosswalk before he met a sight that stopped him cold. Hermione was standing in front of him, a wand to her throat. Behind her, eyes gleaming, was Lucius Malfoy.

"Put the wand down, Potter. You don't stand a chance!" Harry's brain didn't seem to be working. He knew it was a simulation; he knew there was no real harm, but here, standing in front of him, was the man who had killed Ginny, and was about to take another from Harry.

"Don't pause, Harry! Finish him off!"

"Yes, Potter! After all, what's one more victim on your conscience? You couldn't save Ginny, and you can't save her. So give it your best shot; you might even hit me instead of her."

Harry's grip on his wand trembled. The wedding was flashing before him again, the green light blinding his eyes and burning into his soul. _ I can't lose another._

"Alright!" shouted Harry. "I'm putting it down! Just leave her alone!"

"HARRY, NO!" shouted Hermione, struggling against her captor. The elder Malfoy merely smiled.

"That's right Potter. No need to play the hero. No need to lose another friend. You cannot win. You are a weak, pathetic fool, Harry Potter."

"But he's not alone!"

Hermione had suddenly wrenched herself free of Lucius' grasp, and twisting around caught his wand hand. Suddenly, Harry was up and climbing over the last few barriers between himself and Malfoy, shooting over the top of the last car between them, diving for Malfoy's pale face. He no longer cared that this wasn't real. He just wanted to inflict pain until there was no more pain inside him to release. As he fell on Malfoy, he saw that he already had several long gashes across his cheek, where Hermione had scratched him. With anger and hate boiling over him, Harry began to add to the gashes, starting with a hard right punch to the jaw, Malfoy's head connecting solidly with the ground as Harry's fists flew. He heard someone screaming, and was surprised to find that it was himself. His voice was cracking with exertion, but he wouldn't stop. He _couldn't_. He would never stop…

"Stop!"

Harry suddenly felt a blinding pain as Malfoy, the street, and the ashes disappeared, and his fist connected with the floor of the Room of Requirement. He heard a sharp crack, and saw blood start to pour from the tops of his knuckles.

It was Lupin who had called the session to an end. He had been the one who came up with the idea of walking past the enchanted room, looking for a place where the DA could train in reality settings. And so, naturally, it responded to his voice when he gave commands. And tonight, Lupin had seen enough.

"I think that will do for tonight!" He shouted over the voices of excited and frightened students. All of the DA trained in these sessions, and so there were no fatal tests, only ones that would briefly put you out. In here, the Avada Kedavra curse merely left the recipient with a bad headache for twenty minutes.

"Will the Captains please remain for a few moments to receive notes? The rest of you may return to your Common Rooms. Zabini! Remember to practice your draw. A real Death Eater would have beaten your pull tonight. Pavarti!" Padma, who had been checking her nails, turned quickly. "I recommend that you take more time checking your fire than your nails, or else next time, Lavender may not be able to dodge your poorly aimed hex." Pavarti turned abashedly away, trying to avoid Lavender's eyes as she ran her hands through her singed hair.

"Dean!" Dean had been sitting and smiling, as if he knew this was coming.

"Yes, Professor?" Dean said, trying to look angelic. Harry thought it didn't quite suit him.

"Dean, while I applaud the effort, don't you think fighting dirty is a bit…beneath you? A bit unorthodox?"

"Like the Death Eaters are going to be orthodox?" grinned Dean, blowing imaginary dirt off his knuckles. "I figured eye gouging would be allowed!"

"Red card, Dean. Red card. But you may be right. We'll discuss it at the next meeting."

The rest of the DA milled out of the room, while Harry massaged his wounded fist. It stung every time he touched it, so he pulled his robes over the wound, and waited for Lupin to give him his notes.

"You did well, Ms. Lovegood! But please, if you are going into a firefight, take out your earrings. The turnips may be a raging fashion statement, but they are also carry a lovely chance of getting pulled out by the roots! Off you go then."

Luna smiled at Lupin, and drifted out the door, waving a dreamy goodbye to the remaining captains. Lupin made his way over to Harry.

"Does it hurt?" he whispered when he got close. Harry nodded.

"Good. A reminder. That is what happens when you drop your guard. You had a perfect chance to take out Lucius, and you missed it."

Harry gaped at his professor. "I…There was _no_ chance! He had Hermione!"

"Yes, and there are times when sacrifices must be taken into consideration, Harry." Harry looked venomous. "I know you don't want to hear it, and I certainly know you don't want to think about it. But it might come down to the choice one day, between your enemy and the life of your friend. And when that day comes, you will have to be ready to do whatever is necessary."

"When that day comes, I will gladly do whatever it takes to free my friends! I will not lose another one of them! They are not collateral; they are not pawns on a chessboard! And I will do whatever is necessary to make sure that they are safe, even if it means taking their place."

"And what if we don't want you to?" said Hermione, who was striding up to them. "I've warned you about playing the hero before, Harry, and I heard Draco shout it to you as well. We all know you're noble, and that is one of the things I really admire about you, but please, Harry. Sometimes we don't need to be rescued. And sometimes, you need to consider that you may be more valuable than one of us!"

"How can you say that, Hermione? That _I'm_ more valuable than-There is _nothing_ more valuable than…my friends." Harry caught himself. He was about to say "you." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw both Ron and Draco roll their eyes to the ceiling.

"None of _us_ were marked to defeat Voldemort, and that sets you apart!" Hermione moved forward, her voice lifting, her eyes flashing with frustration. "You need to be more careful, Harry! You are invaluable! If he kills you, he's won. The rest of us are just…just…cannon fodder."

"I don't care!" Harry shouted, the mere thought of Hermione being "expendable" to anyone lighting his blood and swimming his vision in red. "There is no way I'm going to sit back and let you simply _die_ because some fraud with windows for glasses and bangles the size of Wales prophesized that I'd be taking out Voldemort! _I_ won't allow it!"

"And we won't allow you to just give yourself up," Hermione yelled back, unfazed by Harry's shouts. "So get it through your head!" She waved her fingers in front of his face, in an impression of sign language. "_STOP. PLAYING. THE. HERO!" _She intoned.

"Alright!" said Harry, batting her hands away from his face. He began to trudge out of the room, when Draco stopped him, thinking he might be able to joke Harry out of this funk.

"Nice right hook," he smiled. "You know how long I've wanted to do that to my old man?" Draco patted Harry's shoulder, but Harry smacked it away, his fist clenching at his side.

"Don't you touch me, _Malfoy_!" Harry spit the name, Draco's father's sneering face still fresh in his mind, his pale hand holding a wand to Hermione's throat.

"Oi!" said Ron, up in a flash and standing between the two. But fast as a snake Draco reached around Ron, grabbed Harry's injured hand, and squeezed hard. Harry felt a surging wave of pain, and fell to his knees. Draco towered above him, any trace of joking gone. His voice was etched with anger, and his eyes were flashing.

"Don't…_you_ forget which side I'm on, Potter." Malfoy's voice barely rose above a whisper, but Harry felt each word thump into his chest. "And don't call me Malfoy. My mother gave me a first name. Use it."

With that, he released Harry's hand, and marched off towards the door. Harry stayed on his knees for a minute, regaining his surroundings. Hermione was watching him from a distance, and Harry could see she was fighting to stay there even as her anger still swarmed through her. Lupin was focused with Zen-like concentration on gathering his belongings. Ron slowly walked over, and put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"This may seem a bit mad coming from me, but," Ron spoke low as he crouched down, his eyes still a bit wary. "Malfoy's not his father, Harry." Harry jerked like he'd been hit and something inside him snapped. He was tired of fighting with Hermione over her safety, tired of seeing a wariness in his best friend's eyes directed at him, tired of all his secrets and just tired of _being_ Harry Potter and not having anyone he could talk to about it.

Harry wrenched away from Ron's hand on his shoulder and shot to his feet. "Oh stuff it, Ron!"

Ron backed up, his hands in the air.

The pain subsided in Harry's hand enough that he thought he'd make it to Madam Pomfrey, and he stumbled toward the door.

"Hospital Wing!" he heard Lupin call, before Harry slammed the door behind him.

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"A small word of advice, boyo," said James Barrie as he pulled out a bottle of _Skele-Mend_. "Doona pick fights with stone floors. The stone floors win ninety-nine out of one hundred times. That's a statistic. Taught us tha' third year of wizarding medical school."

Harry grinned. "What was taught during the first two years?"

"Doona go up against mountain trolls with naught but a wooden stick. So, you're two for two so far."

"Yeah, I guess I'm not doctor material."

"Aye," said Barrie, "But you've got a good heart, and that counts for a lot."

"Do I really have a good heart?" asked Harry. "Sometimes, I just…I feel it's full of nothing but anger. And it tends to get angry at it's friends when all they are really trying to do is help it." Harry had cooled down enough now to realize that his friends (even Malfoy) were right. _It's like the summer all over again. They try to help and I shut them down.)_

"There was never a man in the history of the world that didna have some faults, Harry. Even the heroes. In fact, especially the heroes."

"I'm no hero, Barrie."

"Then I doona know who is, Harry. Now hold still; bones in the hand are a touch delicate ta mend, thanks ta being so small." Harry smiled, right before the lightning bolts of pain stabbed through his hand.

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Harry was dozing a few minutes later as Barrie went to check on a few of the other patients. He thought he heard a bump near his bed, but concluded in his drowsy state, that he was imagining it. HE was trying to remember the dream he had been having a few nights ago. It had been a good dream, full of chestnut eyes, and soft hair…The hair was so close in his memory, he felt it tickle his chin. Harry opened his eyes, blearily. The dream lingered, as he saw above him the chocolate eyes of Hermione, swimming in the light…

"GAH!" Harry bolted back on his bed, feeling his heart racing. Hermione, who had been waiting for him to wake up, jumped back with a gasp. Barrie came racing over to the bed.

"So, up at last are you, Van Winkle?" He grinned. "Such a shame you had to wake up to the face of a beautiful young lady. And such a welcome for her as well, eh?" Barrie turned to Hermione. "I'm sorry if the gentleman gave you a start, Ms. Granger, but I'm sure in the more delicate tongue, GAH translates into 'lovely to see you.'"

"Yes, that's exactly what GAH meant, James," said Harry, feeling his heart beginning to slow. He looked up at Hermione, who was biting her lip, looking nervous. "It's all right," he said. "You just startled me. I'm not going to go off the deep end"

Hermione nodded, and drew closer, moving to sit on the edge of his bed.

"I save that for when I'm playing the hero in the Room of Requirement." Hermione stopped in mid-motion before straightening again.

"Yes…well." She met Harry's eyes resolutely before continuing. "Look, don't worry about that. I came to apologize. I shouldn't have gotten in your face about that in the Danger Room."

"It's all right, Hermione," said Harry, dropping his gaze. He had been finding it hard to keep a lock on her eyes. They were a deep brown with her worry and he feared he would become lost in them. "You've told me before about being too much of the…Did you just call it the Danger Room?"

Hermione's eyes went wide. "W…maybe. Yes. Yes, I suppose I did. What about it?"

"Isn't that what they call the training room in that comic book?"

Hermione blushed. "Sometimes the dentist's office ran out of the latest issues of _Modern Science,"_ she huffed.

"Whatever you say, Marvel Girl," said Harry, enjoying putting Hermione on the spot.

"Do you want to hear my apology, or do you want to mock me?"

"Is that a trick question? Because I'd be tickled if I could possibly find the time to do both."

"You may do _one_, Harry. And you have five seconds to consider which. And do realize, one scenario ends with your ears growing to the size of an elephant's."

"Then by all means, the apology." He flashed her a grin, happy there was banter, sure that meant everything was alright between them, apology or no. He tensed a bit when she dropped to the side of his bed, close enough he could smell her hair.

"I just wanted to say…I don't mean to keep dragging on about this. It's just you march into these situations so blindly. You want to do what's right, and I adore that, but sometimes if you don't have a plan, barging in and trying to save the day will only get lots of people hurt." Harry was still having trouble meeting her eyes, the care in her lovely eyes for him, her _friend_, ripping at his heart.

"All I saw was you in danger. Whenever I see y…see a friend in danger, my desire to help them overrides any self-sustaining awareness I may have."

"I know, Harry." Suddenly she grabbed his hand in hers, moving even closer. "And that thought keeps me up at night sometimes, worried sick over when you're going to march happily into a situation from which there is no escape. And sometimes, there would be an escape if you would simply wait a few moments. As you saw in there tonight, I can handle myself a bit."

"I saw you nearly clawed out Malfoy's eye tonight." Desperate to keep his mind in the friend zone, even while his hand curled tightly around hers, Harry went back to banter. "Which, you know, terrifies me just a little."

"One of the first rules of female self-defense. Go for the eye, or the groin." Harry winced, reminding himself vigorously not to cross Hermione anytime soon.

"But I wanted to say that I'm sorry," continued Hermione. "I've been thinking, and I have to say that even though it can be quite stupid of you," Harry dropped his eyes to the floor just past her foot, "to barrel into danger, it's part of what makes you…you. And since its part of your makeup, I wouldn't have it changed. Not even if it infuriates me sometimes."

Harry's eyes remained focused on the floorboard. "Thanks, Hermione."

Hermione smiled. Harry could just see it in his periphery, but it warmed him just the same.

"You're welcome." And with that, she turned to leave. Harry's eyes shot up immediately.

"So, if you're Marvel Girl, does that make me…" With the speed of a whip crack, Hermione had turned on her heel and pulled out her wand. Harry quickly put his hands up, signaling defeat.

"…Beast," said Hermione. "That makes you The Beast."

Harry made sure his mouth was kept clamped shut until the door to the Hospital Wing was closed securely. A small, stifled chuckle came from the far side of the room, and Harry turned to see Barrie, moving across the wing with a knowing smile on his face.

"What are you sniggering at?" Harry asked, half-annoyed, half-amused.

"You've really got it bad for her, doona you, lad?"

Harry went red. "What? I don't know what you're talking about! 'It'? What it?"

"It! The spark! The end all and be all! You've sent your head flying firmly after your heels for that lass!" Harry kicked himself mentally. _Can EVERYONE see it?_ He tried to contort his face into an amused smile. It came off looking like an annoyed grimace.

"You're off your hinge, Barrie."

"Och! Am I now?" laughed James, clapping his hands together. "Is that why you canna look her in the _face_, but your eyes are plastered to the back of her _head?_" He let loose with such a howl of laughter, Harry could see the faces of the patients under the influence of deep sleep potions smile with him. "It's a beautiful thing, boyo," said Barrie. "You've got a real prize there." Harry decided not to follow this line of conversation any further.

"I think I should go," he said. "My hand's feeling loads better, thanks."

"Aye, go you should. Only mind your mouth around the lass. You can't count on me to shrink your ears for ya!"

Harry whipped off his sheet, and strode out of the Hospital Wing, with peals of Barrie's laughter still following him. Barrie waited until Harry was out of sight to stop laughing. He hadn't felt this good in ages. All those wizards that had been lost at St. Mungo's put a frightful strain on any good mood.

_But there's the proof, make no mistake,_ thought Barrie. _There's hope, when you're least expecting to find it._

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Grad School. Fucking….Ow? Why you gotta hit me so hard? Next chapter up sooner than this one, let's hope.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling. However, I am _RIGHT!_ And sorry for the delay, faithful readers! I appreciate all the reviews I've gotten from everyone! And much love to my good friend M, the Patient Editor.

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Chapter 18: The Letter

_Dear Hermione,_

Harry's eyes had not left the fire in his empty Common Room for the past hour, but he had not truly seen the red and yellow flames that danced light and shadow across his tired, harried features for quite a while now. Thoughts rose and fell, and blazed together in his mind, and it was not the crackling, burning timber that held his attention anymore. No, his thoughts focused on Hermione, and on the following day. Harry picked up his quill once more, dipped it in ink, and stared down at the sheet of paper that lay on the table in front of him.

_Dear Hermione,_

A low self-deprecating chuckle rose in Harry's chest at the two words scribbled across the page in his distinctive handwriting. _Two bloody hours, and that's as far as I can get,_ he thought bitterly. Slowly, he set the quill down again, and returned his eyes to the fire.

_Where do I go from there?_ He wondered, scratching his chin distractedly._ "Dear Hermione, chances are I'm going to die tomorrow, and I'm in love with you?" Bah! Terrible… "Hermione, if I survive long enough to return to Hogsmeade with you, I'd really love to get some coffee alone…with you…" Ugh… _On a low moan Harry let his head drop into his hands as he glared at the crisp and glaringly clean parchment.

The sheet of paper mocked him silently, as he searched for the right words to follow the only two he managed to get down. _Two bloody hours…_

Harry snatched the parchment and crumpled it into a ball. Taking careful aim, he chucked it right into the heart of the fire, where it landed in the same exact spot it's predecessor from two hours ago had landed. The _Dear Hermione_ burned brightly, as Harry massaged his temples and sighed deeply.

_Love makes everything that much harder…_

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"You should ask her out, mate," said Ron, parrying Harry's wand. Harry grimaced. This was not the fight he had shown up for.

"You're not going to throw my concentration off, Ron," said Harry, spinning to attempt an attack on his friend's knees. "And besides, ask her out _where_?" His newest attempt was also blocked. "All of our previous _dates _usually end with awkward silences! So how about we add Madame Puddifoot's to the mix?"

"Previous dates?" said Draco quizzically.

"Well, I'm counting saving her life…"

"That doesn't count!" shouted Ron, who was beginning a new attack.

"OK, then the flight we took over the lake."

"I thought that was just training, Harry," said Malfoy.

"It had OVERTONES!" shouted Harry, as he blocked yet another onslaught.

"That's just the point!" said Ron. "It's not about the place, you git! It's about the _act_ of asking her out, not just overtones and adventures! Take her somewhere _romantic. _Take her anywhere! Go to the Astronomy Tower." Ron blocked Harry's half-hearted punch. _Not going to throw your concentration, eh, Harry?_ "Go to the dungeons for all I care! Hell, take her on a romantic nighttime ride on the giant squid! The point is to _ask_ her!" His wand shot a blaze of sparks over Harry's head.

"Why should I?" said Harry, backing away slightly. "It isn't your call, Ron. You don't get to choose when or if I ever ask Hermione out." A new bolt of light shot from across the room, and Harry felt his arms stiffen. Draco had decided to add his two cents, whether Harry liked it or not.

"You're making it our call, Potter, because, quite frankly, you're really starting to bore me. If you two take any longer to admit that you're both all lovey-dovey on each other, I'd put my bet on the_ Apocalypse_ happening before your first date." Harry struggled mightily against the body-bind, not knowing which friend to aim for first when he regained full use of his fists.

"Consider this like an intervention, mate," said Ron. "Except instead of alcohol, we're making you face up to your devastating addiction to being a clammy git whenever a certain member of the opposite sex appears." He placed his hands on Harry's shoulders. "It's time to seek treatment, Harry. Ask her out. Tell her how you feel. Grab her by the shoulders and kiss her. Just do _something_, or I swear I'll kill both of you so you'll stop bothering me."

"Anything to say to that?" asked Malfoy, smirking.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Your weak-sauce binding spell wore off ages ago! _Tarantella!"_ Harry's jelly-legs curse caught both boys off guard, and they fell to the ground, with their legs wobbling beneath them.

"From my vantage point, it looks like I don't have to do anything," said Harry with a smirk. He got up to leave, but thought better of it. _Revenge is fun. _Reaching down, he pulled back his fingers and flicked both of them soundly on the nose. Harry found their pain highly therapeutic, and decided to take advantage of the lull in fighting to grab his book-bag and clear out, before his curse wore off.

Harry opened the door to find Lupin pacing by, obviously trying to find the Room of Requirement.

"Ah, good. It's even easier when the door appears _for_ you," he said.

"Glad to help, Professor. Looking for Ron or Draco? They're right behind me." Lupin poked his head around the door, long enough to notice the two boys cradling their injured noses.

"Training them on the ancient art of keeping their big mouths shut?" Lupin asked with a wince.

"With all the tools at my disposal," replied Harry.

"Excellent. We always need more teachers…" Lupin was suddenly looking uncomfortable.

"Something wrong, Professor?" Harry asked. Lupin opened his mouth a few times, obviously searching for the right word.

"Well…no. I was…Urm…Well, I was looking for you actually, Harry."

"What about?" asked Harry apprehensively.

"Oh, nothing important. I was just…well, those two have told me a few things, things that I was noticing as well, and…when the case arises in the life of a young man, those around with more experience, and dare I say _age_, must avail themselves…"

"You lost me somewhere around 'the life of a young man,' sir." Lupin paused. He seemed to be gathering his resolve.

"I heard you might have feelings for Hermione that go beyond the…realm of friendship."

Harry stood dumbstruck by this revelation. "Is that...did they ask you to be there?"

"Interventions are serious matters, and I thought I could help you along with any decisions you might need to make. You see, young women are fickle creatures, Harry. Especially at your age, and you must be certain that feelings are absolute in…"

"_Please_ tell me this is not the only reason you came there tonight!" Harry asked angrily. _This is getting ridiculous!_

"Of course not!" said Lupin, looking a little relieved at the chance to change the subject. However, after saying it, he seemed at a loss to remember what his other topic was.

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_I should have listened to them, Hermione._

Harry was feeling a bit better. At least this letter had gotten beyond _Dear Hermione._ But the most difficult thing to say still had not been said.

_I should have listened to all of them. I guess I was just afraid. It's a little weird, after everything I've faced, to discover that there are things more frightening to me than Basilisks or rampaging Dementors or even bat-crazy Dark Lords. I'm scared of losing you, which in turn makes me scared to tell you how I really feel. I'm scared to let you know that you've become so much more than a friend to me these past months, and that I can't stop thinking about you. From the moment I wake up until I fall asleep, you are with me, and I'm scared that if I tell you how I feel, I will lose you, because you are so much better than me. You've been the strongest friend I've ever had, and I'm afraid that I don't deserve you. So my brain tells me to be quiet, to say nothing, so I can keep your friendship, to be happy with what I have, even if my heart tells me to go ahead and take the chance…_

_It's a big chance, but I feel I have to take it. That lesson Umbridge taught me so well our fifth year has stuck with me and I think it can apply here._

'_I Must Not Tell Lies' And I won't, not to you, not anymore._

_Somehow, during all of this, I fell in love with you, Hermione._

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"I was also coming to tell you…that is, all of you, that you need…ah yes! More training in armed combat."

"You mean with weapons?" asked Harry.

"Of course!" replied Lupin. "Magic is all well and good, but sometimes it can't hurt to have a solid piece of steel in your hands."

"Like guns?" asked Harry. Such weaponry seemed out of place here in the wizarding world. Lupin gave him a harsh look.

"We don't use guns, Harry. And neither would a Death Eater. Killing from afar is not in our nature. It's in our nature to be personal with our battles, right up in the enemy's face. The closest you would get to a gun would be a crossbow."

"So I guess I'll be seeing a lot more of Atherton Wing?"

"Maybe not so much," said Lupin. "Ath's good for the basics of wands and dueling, but you'll need more of a warrior to teach you a few tricks. Someone with experience in wielding swords and axes. I'll check around, see who I can find."

"I might be able to help," said a voice from behind them.

Harry stopped, hoping there was some other voice with the same scratchy, conceited air. But he knew there could be only one. Lupin seemed to have guessed it too. He raised his eyes to the ceiling for a moment – Harry got the distinct impression that he was praying for patience – before putting on a brave smile, and turning to meet the speaker.

"See, when you hang around the dregs long enough, you start to notice that they could take on any sophisticated ass what hangs out inside a book all day," said John Constantine. "The tosser would be on the mat faster than thinking."

"Are any of your…_dregs_ either willing to help us or not from the demon realm?" asked Lupin. Harry noticed he always kept a polite tone with Constantine, although not one that denoted kindness.

"And what's so wrong with demons? You high and mighties, always giving them a hard time! But most of 'em are nice enough blokes, once you get past the rotten egg smell. Oh, and the occasional digestion of various farm animals. But really, salt of the earth types, the lot of 'em."

"I'd take that as a 'no'," said Harry, icily.

"Ooooo, not taking too kindly to me, are you Lightnin'?" said Constantine. "Just so happens, I know a bloke with loads of training in the old style fighting. Mind you, he and his buddies were around when the old style was invented, but you wouldn't meet a better fighter if you mixed Atherton Wing with Andre the Giant."

Harry looked quizzically at Lupin. But he merely smiled and said "Then we'd be thrilled to receive their assistance."

"Thought you might be," Constantine grinned. "But that's not why I'm here. Remember that signal we got from The Sanctuary a few nights back?" Lupin suddenly looked excited.

"Is he here?"

"Banging about the dungeons at the moment, trying to keep out of sight. He's gotten a bit twitchy lately. I don't recommend getting too close without giving him fair warning."

"Who's down in the dungeons?" asked Harry. Lupin looked uneasy.

"You'll find out soon enough, Harry. But before you do, I need to you to get Ron and Hermione. Draco too, if you can get him to come after taking the Mickey out them like that…" Constantine looked impressed.

"You DID!?" he said, with a smile, but Lupin stopped him.

"John, please," Lupin interjected. "Harry? Will you?" Harry nodded, and headed back to the Room of Requirement. _Bet they'll both be thrilled to see me…_

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_I'm not afraid of what I have to do tomorrow. At least, I'm not afraid of dying. I definitely don't WANT to, but there's something I've been thinking about. Voldemort's been working so long and hard to stop from dying, I bet if he saw a Boggart, it would turn into his tombstone. But I will have died proud and with the knowledge that I went down fighting an evil that can not be allowed to exist. And I will know that I've been happy, truly happy, the past few months. And I want you to know that it's because of you. Even when things are at their darkest, I know you'll be there, and that I can dance with you at the end of every day. I know that when I wake up in the morning, the first person I see will be you (even if it's only to tell me that I'll be late for breakfast). The feeling I get around you isn't one of panic; I don't feel butterflies, my chest doesn't clench uncomfortably, I just feel…_

Harry paused. _I should have a thesaurus for this kind of letter,_ he thought. _What's a good word for "Calm in every fiber of my being, and content in the thought that I have found a person with whom I can feel absolute peace. Bollocks! It's probably a word about a page long. _He smiled. _Normally, I'd ask Hermione, but that would be a bit silly in the present circumstances._

He sat for a while, thinking of the feeling, trying to express it in some grandly eloquent phrase, something that Hermione's bookish side would find appropriate. But he could not, for the life of him, think of one.

_I just feel right._

He looked at it for a moment.

_No. There's nothing more to add to that, _he thought. _Just…right._

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"…You evil, twisted son of a…"

"Ron, hold him back!"

"Why?"

"I'll kill you! I'll…"

"Draco! Help me hold him back!"

"I'm not getting in his way! Do it yourself."

Lupin had expected Harry to take Snape's return badly. But not this badly. So after a minute of frenzied clawing, Lupin decided that more direct action would be necessary.

"_Petrificous totalus!"_

Harry froze but the hate in his eyes was still brimming. He could feel nothing else; no reason, no intellect. There was solely the burning desire to hurt the man in front of him. However, Severus Snape did not seem put off by this greeting. As a matter of fact, he looked quietly as if he had expected it.

"Now, now, Potter," he said, gliding slowly towards the frozen face of his former student. "You really ought to learn to control your temper. Have you not been clearing your mind? No wonder The Order needs my help."

"That will do, Severus," said Lupin, his voice harsh. Harry knew in an instant that he was not the only one in the room who hated Snape. He was, however, the only one who had tried to attack him on sight.

"Indeed, it will do for as much as I'd like to instill a small dose of respect in you, boy, I'm afraid there is no time…for the moment." Snape's cold eyes were burrowing into Harry's, and to Harry, it felt like they were melting the body-lock curse. He briefly considered going on the attack again, but could see every other adult in the room prepared to restrain him. Moody, Tonks, Lupin, and Professor McGonagall were all eyeing him with caution.

"I know where the final Horcrux will be."

Snape's words froze the room. Only Constantine moved, looking derisive.

"It is no mean feat, discovering its whereabouts, and The Dark Lord takes great care in concealing it, but I know where Hufflepuff's Cup will be tomorrow, and that is why I left the company of the Death Eaters."

"What's so important about tomorrow?" asked Hermione. Snape hardly glanced at her.

"Tomorrow is the anniversary of Dumbledore's defeat of the Dark Wizard Grindelwald. The Dark Lord…"

"Why on earth won't you say his name, Snape?" Spat Harry.

"_The DARK LORD_ has left the Horcrux in the Refuge, near the remains of Grindelwald. Legend states that dark items gain special power when infused with the spirits of great wizards. And on such an historic evening, the former Dark Lord's spirit should be especially vibrant. That is why Hufflepuff's Cup now resides in Grindelwald's dead hands. If you were to find the Refuge, and infiltrate it, you may have a chance to recover the final Horcrux."

Moody chuckled, low in his chest. His magical eye was piercing into Snape.

"I don't buy your story, not for one second, Severus. If Voldemort were to truly put the Cup there, why would he tell you?"

"He didn't tell me, Alastor. I gleaned the information through my own ways. And furthermore, I do not care whether or not you believe me. I don't care if you act on my information or not. But I made a promise to Dumbledore, and that was…"

"Don't you_ dare_ say his name!"

"And that WAS to do whatever I could to eliminate the threat of Dark Wizards from our time. I vowed that I would serve Dumbledore to my dying day, even if it meant serving him past _his_ dying day! I have so far delivered on my promise, never deviating. Even when it meant destroying the greatest wizard of our age! It may have gone against every fiber of my being, but if Dumbledore said he needed to die, then I was not the man to deny his final wish!"

The assembled crowd was silent.

"Follow my advice; don't follow my advice. It is _entirely_ up to you."

"I knew you had noble intentions, you great sappy lump!" Constantine cried from the corner. Snape rolled his eyes.

"I assume that means you will follow my advice. If so, I recommend you act quickly. The Dark Lord will not let the Cup out of his sight for long. It is both priceless and a liability. The Cup will be at The Refuge tomorrow night; I know that much. I do not know if it will be there the following morning. The time to act is now." Harry still looked doubtful.

"You could be back here because Voldemort wants us to think you're on our side."

Snape smirked. "I could be. But I say I'm not; and you don't really have any other choice, do you? If you want the Horcrux, go and get it." And with that, Snape strode out the door. In the days to follow, none of the Order truly knew where Snape had gone to. For although Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs knew most of the grounds by heart, and entrusted their map with the information, they did not know the dungeons; Snape knew them better than anyone. Harry turned to Lupin; of all the adults, he was the one he trusted the most.

"Do you think he's telling the truth?" Lupin, in turn, conceded to Moody, bowing with his hand out.

"So far as my eyes and my dark Detectors could fathom, he was telling the truth, or at least thought he was. But Snape is one of the most gifted Legilimens I've ever met. He could be setting us all up for the biggest fall the Order's ever had."

"The bottom line is we can't know anything for certain," said Lupin. "But if you were to ask me, my desire for the final Horcrux slightly outweighs any doubts I may have." Moody nodded, slowly, looking like agreeing with Snape was causing considerable pain.

"I agree," said Harry, not completely sure if he did or not.

"You do?" said Ron and Draco together.

"Yeah. I don't like it, but this is the only lead we've had so far. We need that final Horcrux, and if it means trusting Snape, then I'll do it."

"Right on, mate," said Ron, raising his fist in the air. Hermione still looked doubtful.

"I…you're right of course, but isn't there some other way to get this than to storm the Refuge?"

"What's the Refuge?" asked Harry.

"Darkest pit in all of Wizarding," spat Moody. "Those Death Eaters believe that the spirits of all the old Dark Lords will aid them, so they set up a special little mausoleum for their bones. Dank, filthy place it is."

"Do we know where it is?"

"We do," said Lupin. "Just, not many people are foolish enough to go looking for trouble there." He grinned. "I guess we're the lucky fools then!"

"Fine," Harry said, resolutely. "Tomorrow, then, at night. I know I'm going. Anyone else interested in risking their lives on a dangerous and foolhardy…" Ron, Hermione, and Draco's hands all cut him off, reaching into the air like they knew the answer to a test question.

"I'd recommend taking a few more of the D.A. with you, Harry," said Moody. "And of course, you'll have the Order by your side as well."

"Most of the Order," said Lupin, looking pained. Hermione winced.

"It's the beginning of the week of the full moon tomorrow." Lupin nodded, sadly.

"And unfortunately I've developed a bit of a resistance to the wolfsbane potion, so I'll need someone to watch over me, just in case." Tonks, looking ashamed of herself raised her hand.

"I've got to. Sorry, Harry," she said glumly.

"It's alright, Tonks. Just keep him safe, okay?"

"I might be able to convince Dawlish to come along then," said Shacklebolt, thoughtfully. "He's been wanting to join the Order since You-Know-Who's return. I think he feels a bit off about his decisions during your fifth year."

"Thanks, Kingsley," said Harry. Shacklebolt winked.

"Right then. Get prepared," said Lupin. "Tomorrow, you're walking into a firestorm."

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Harry didn't even lie down that night. He simply sat, quietly, looking into the fire in Head's Room. Neville had agreed at once to join them, as had Luna. If there were anyone who Harry could have chosen out of Dumbledore's Army to join them, it would be those two (other than Ginny, of course). The players were set. Now, there was nothing to do but wait.

Harry hated waiting for this.

Hermione had sat with him for over an hour after Ron left. They didn't speak. Harry wanted to. The urge, the need to scream his feelings were bursting within him, but the invisible barrier that divided the two, although they were merely inches apart, kept him silent. He noticed Hermione's head began to droop. She caught herself, but a few seconds later, it fell again, and did not rise. Harry rose, softly, and as gently as he could, lifted her up in his arms. Hermione shifted, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her head in Harry's sweater. He carried her from the slowly dimming Head Room into her bedroom. The covers were already turned down, and Harry laid her down, softly removing her shoes before tucking her feet into the covers and wrapping her up in the down blanket. He leaned forward. Hermione's forehead was furrowed, as if she were still thinking, still worried even in her sleep. Harry brushed her hair out of her face, and gently caressed her cheek. He no longer felt nervous. His brain, his heart, his whole body told him that this was where he was meant to be. His face lowered to hers, and in the dark of the Head Girl's Room, Harry let his lips brush softly against Hermione's. Then, he got up, and headed back to the fire.

Hermione slept on.

_There's so much I need to say,_ he thought. _So much I should have said. What if I die tomorrow? I have to leave some sort of proof; To show that I did actually love her. In case I never come back. I need to say it once, if only on paper._ And so, Harry brought his journal, his birthday gift from Hermione, out into the Head Room. He sat for a full ten minutes, quill in hand, struggling over an opening. He was praying for some word, any word to start him off. Something eloquent and wonderful. But nothing came. So he began as he began all his letters…

_Dear Hermione…_

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To call the Refuge a mausoleum was a gross understatement in Harry's opinion, he thought as he stared up at the building in front of him. The Refuge was the size of a small church, situated in the middle of a windswept moor. The architecture was ornate, and gothic, like someone had shrunk a French Cathedral. But certainly, the most striking feature was the stained glass window on the second floor. The window was blood red, and in its center was a skull, with an emerald serpent protruding from it's mouth. Harry shuddered. _I've seen so many churches with a lamb, or a cross, and even that synagogue down the street with a star of David. To think that this church is dedicated to the worship of the Dark Arts._ Luna was staring absentmindedly at the window.

"Not very pretty," she muttered, sticking out her tongue at the snake. Harry grinned. Having someone like Luna around, someone who saw the world at a different angle, could be a blessing. And even when it wasn't, it was still pretty funny.

"You all; stay close now. Dawlish!" Dawlish turned as Moody snapped his name, and hurriedly stuffed a long handkerchief back inside his overcoat.

"I've got a bit of a cold coming on," he said, sulkily, "And this weather isn't helping anything."

"You'll have worse problems than a cold if you don't hurry up!" Moody's magical eye was zipping in every direction, and so was (to Harry's displeasure) his real eye. The effect the two separate eyes rolling every which way made Harry slightly nauseous.

The group went into the strange building, Moody leading the way, followed by Shacklebolt and Dawlish, and lastly the students. Draco looked uneasy. Harry shot him a quizzical glance.

"Never liked the stories I heard about this place," he muttered. "Evil lives here."

"I dunno, mate,' said Ron casually, "If you were to fluff up a few pillows, roll out a nice rug or two, and of course burn this horrid place to the ground, there might be some nice land here…AHHHH!"

Every wand suddenly focused on Ron as his scream reverberated through the empty building, bouncing off walls and returning to them vibrate in their ears. Somehow the screams sounded even more scared on the return trip.

"Sp-Spider!"

"Honestly," said Hermione and Luna together as Draco and Harry tried to stifle their laughter. Some of the color returned to Ron's cheeks.

As they walked further into the Refuge, Harry could see the bones that Moody was talking about earlier. They weren't just laid out in tombs, or even lying down at all. Each Dark Witch or Wizard was standing proudly, dressed in fine robes. Each skull was grinning, as if nothing could have pleased the dead more than remaining in this position for all eternity. But Harry couldn't help but feel uneasy, almost as if never laying these bones to rest was a further desecration.

"The greatest hope of every Dark Lord has been to live forever," growled Moody. "And so far, every single one has failed in their quest. So to appease them, their followers stand them up, give the corpses their best robes, and let them stand there forever. They treat them as if they were alive, even after the flesh started to peel from their face."

"It's strange," said Hermione. "I almost feel sorry for them."

"I hate 'em," said Ron. Moody smiled approvingly.

"Good lad there."

"You think hate is a good thing?" asked Harry incredulously.

"Hate's natural, and Ron's got it directed in the right area," said Moody. "I once heard about a pastor giving a sermon, and he asked his congregation if there were any among them who lived without hate. Well, an old man sitting in the front, the oldest man in the county in fact, raised his hand. 'How'd you do it?' said the Pastor. The old man, he just grinned, with his last tooth hanging on for dear life, and said 'Father, all the bastards and ne'er-do-wells I've known in my life; all those folks who've dealt me double and stabbed me in the back, well they're all dead. I've got no one else to hate!"

Moody's chuckle echoed strangely across the room. It came back sounding like a rasping, villainous laugh. Harry shivered. Moody's story did not exactly cheer him up. He noticed their group was now completely encircled by the statues. He felt strangely trapped, almost claustrophobic. And he kept having the strangest feeling the skulls were turning to look at…

"AHHHHHHHHH!"

This time, Harry knew it was no spider.

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_Hopefully, one day, we can both look back on this and laugh…_

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"Harry! The Cup's not here! _Reducto!" _Another skeleton leapt into view replacing the one Hermione had just blasted away. Harry was struggling with the disembodied arm of the former dark wizard Kesandru, and wishing that once you had disposed of the head, the body would stop coming. But to no avail. There was an explosion from near the stairs that led to the second floor, and Harry saw Ron reaching into a Weasley Wizard Wheezes bag.

"Fred and George gave me a discount, on account of me doing something this bloody stupid-AH! Die! Die! Die!" A skull had latched onto his leg, and was slowly biting it's way up towards Ron's waist.

"Ron! Hold still!" cried Neville.

"What!?"

"I've got it!" Neville was aiming his wand, one eye closed, looking like an old west trick shooter about to knock an apple off someone's head. Ron looked where Neville was aiming, and the down to where the skull was climbing. His face turned ashen.

"YOU MISS AND I'LL BLOODY _KILL YOU,_ NEVILLE!"

The skull stopped it's biting, and turned it's hollow dead face to where Neville was. With a snarl, it leapt straight into the air propelling itself at Neville's head.

"_Reducto_!" cried Neville, blasting the skull to pieces. One chunk of jaw was still clattering around the floor, trying to find something else to attack. Ron stamped on it with his boot.

"Bloody undead _GITS!" _he cried, grinding the jawbone to powder and into the floor.

"The cup's not here," cried Hermione, shooting over Luna's head at the torso of another Dark Lord. "We should go!"

"There's still the second floor!" cried Moody. "Kingsley, take Harry and go! We'll hold them off here!"

"But I can't leave you all…"

"GO, Harry!" cried Hermione. Their eyes met, Hermione gave him an exasperated look followed by a small smile before focusing on keeping Luna from trying to chat with a rare female Dark Lord. Harry took one last long look at her, face bright, hair flowing, wand slicing through the air, before he raced up the winding staircase.

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_If everything goes right tomorrow, none of what I'm writing will matter, because I know I'll tell you. I won't waste any more time. But Hermione…_

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The second floor had only one skeleton, and Harry saw that it was still rotting, almost as if someone had attempted to preserve it. The skin was beginning to peel though, and Harry could see yellowing bone beneath the black hairline. The skeleton had a pedestal directly beneath the great stained glass window, which was staining the moonlight from below a deep, blood red. For some reason, some unearthly spell perhaps, Harry could hear a soft chanting, reminding him of Gregorian Monks he had once heard.

_Nox Eterna…_

Shacklebolt grabbed Harry's shoulder. "Look!" In Grindelwald's hands rested the Cup of Hufflepuff.

_Nox Imortalimenta…_

"What do we do?" asked Harry. "Do we grab it?"

"Not unless you want it to grab you," said Kingsley. "I'll do it."

"No," said a voice from behind them. "I'll do it."

Harry turned. Dawlish was walking towards the remains, a strange smile on his face. "Can't let you have that, Kingsley. Ministry orders." Shacklebolt gasped.

"_Ministry_ orders?!"

"You really didn't think the Order were the only ones who could choose sides, did you?" Dawlish said, with an evil grin on his face. "I have my own orders, and they come straight from the top. Don't even try it Potter!" Harry had been reaching for his wand, but stopped.

"You'll never get away with this," spat Kingsley.

"But you'll never get away…with _this,_" said Dawlish, picking up the Cup. "Only the Allies of the Dark Lord can take anything from his hand, and he knows who is and who isn't..."

"_Accio!"_ The cup flew from Dawlish's fingers, and into Moody's fingers, as he rushed up the stairs. The next few seconds passed as a blur to Harry. He saw Dawlish pull his wand up and point it at Harry. He saw the killing curse form on his lips. And then, he saw Moody. Harry wasn't sure how he made it so fast on his wooden leg, but Harry saw Moody turn, and face the oncoming curse. Both his eyes were facing the same way…

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_You can be sure of one thing…_

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The force of the killing curse slammed both Harry and Moody through the plate glass window. The world suddenly slowed down for Harry. He saw the falling glass around him, and the Cup falling next to him, out of Moody's dead hand. He saw another flash of light from inside the Refuge, and the bald pate of Kingsley Shacklebolt looking out of the broken window. Harry closed his eyes…

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_My last breath will carry your name._

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…And opened his mouth.

"Hermione…"

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_Love, Harry_

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I actually finished this chapter the day before Deathly Hallows came out, but reading the real thing postponed the release of the chapter. I hope you all are still interested in reading, even if it is now DEVASTATINGLY evident that this does not hold a candle to the awesomeness of the last book! Next chapter should be out soon!


	19. Chapter 19

Thanks to M, for all her lovely editing, even if I didn't turn this into a slash epic.

Disclaimer: I own none of this! It is all J.K. Rowling's!

Chapter 19: Hearts and Minds

Harry had never known light to have a texture before; but as he fell, the luminescence around his body gave off a feeling of comfort. The closest he could remember to this feeling was when he had swallowed gillyweed his fourth year, and was breathing like a fish under the lake. Only, he was no longer breathing…

_So this is it. This is death._

"Not quite," murmured a soft voice next to him. "This is only the next step in your life."

The voice Harry heard was female. Harry had only heard the voice a few times, but recognized it immediately. Normally, he only heard it whenever a Dementor got too close. But this time, it played across his ear, full of love, and free of pain and fear.

"Mum?"

"We're all here Harry. Me, your father, Sirius; all of us."

"Then…is this heaven?"

"I hope not, mate!" came a new voice from his other side.

"Ron!"

"If it is, it means I'm stuck in this place forever with Malfoy, and that's not much of a heaven in my book, if you ask me."

"You're no paradise yourself," quipped Malfoy's sarcastic tone, somewhere close to Ron's voice.

"We are all here, alive and dead, Harry," said Lily Potter. "We are all alive, inside of you. All the people you ever knew."

"Wait. Inside of me? Then is this my head? Am I just dreaming?"

A new voice; Harry felt comforted at once. This voice had explained so much to him in it's time.

"But is not life simply a dream?" Dumbledore sounded slightly amused. "A dream from which we all must eventually awake?"

"Now, now, Dumbledore," came the voice of Sirius Black, "Don't get abstract. After all, the boy asked a simple question, with a simple answer." The face of his godfather flashed before him. He looked younger than Harry had ever seen him.

"You're not dead or dreaming, Harry. But you're certainly not awake. You're…at rest. I wish I could be more helpful, but this honestly isn't a very explainable place to be."

"A lot is happening out there, outside of your mind," came the voice of Remus Lupin. "People are trying to understand what happened at the Refuge, but you wouldn't be much of a help to them now. So just rest, Harry. You are more powerful than you have ever imagined. Just rest…"

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"His breathing is normal, and there's very little superficial damage, so far as I can tell," said James Barrie, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He had done the most thorough search of Harry's body as he could trying to find any signs of injury.

"He's in amazingly good condition, considering that he fell nearly sixty feet onto packed earth. Compared to Moody's..."

The group around Barrie bowed their heads. Barrie was personally glad that he knew Moody was already dead before the fall and the landing that took such a heavy toll on his body. The magic eye was the only thing not broken by the fall.

"Quite honestly, it's beyond my comprehension, and that's saying somethin'."

"So, what you are saying is that Potter should be dead right now," said Shacklebolt, looking grave.

"Anyone who took that fall should be dead," said Barrie. "Are you sure you didn't do anythin'? I know, in times of confusion or…whatever you want to call it… desperation, you can forget spells you've cast. I've had total blanks at St. Mungo's occasionally, where I don't remember _how _I saved someone, only that I _did._"

"I checked my wand," replied Kingsley. "The final spell I cast was the one that killed Dawlish. Priori Incantatem. Harry wasn't saved by me." Shacklebolt looked over three beds, to the body of Dawlish, covered in a white shroud.

"And he really tried to do Harry in?" said Ron. He had asked this question at least twenty times since the group had returned from The Refuge. Hufflepuff's Cup now rested in the headmistress's office, next to all the other Horcruxes.

"He did," sighed Kingsley, heavily. "And, if what he said before he acted is true, we have more to worry about than just the Death Eaters now."

"Yes," said Percy Weasely. He had been called in, along with the rest of the Weasely family. In the days since Ginny's funeral, Percy had proven himself to be a very reliable source inside the Ministry. "The Ministry of Magic, or at least many of the higher ups, are now in league with You-Know-Who…It was a closely guarded secret, even from me. I still don't want to believe it."

"Believe it, Perse," Fred replied. "The whole Ministry's been shutting down for weeks now. Dad told us. He said they won't let you or him past the front gate anymore."

"And Bill just tried to enter through the front door," said George. "They aren't letting most wizards in anymore. Only a select few from what I heard. Folk like Umbridge."

"Any Ministry involvement is especially disturbing," continued Shacklebolt, "Because it means that Hogwarts is one of the last safe refuges for wizards in Britain." He sighed. "We might have quite a few guests here in the next few days. Some friendly…some, perhaps, not so friendly."

"Our grounds, and the protection of Hogsmeade shall be open to any person who asks for it," said Professor McGonagall. "The school has long been a last resort for those who need safety. So shall it be once more." Molly Weasley gave the Headmistress a pat on the arm.

Through all of this, Hermione had remained silent. Usually, she was the first to speak, to try and figure out the opposing side, or to formulate a plan. Hermione had always been quick to discuss, believing that a lively discussion led to lively ideas. But now, Hermione had not spoken since she heard the crash of a body to the ground outside the Refuge. She had rushed out, along with Luna, Ron, Malfoy, and Neville, to find Harry and Moody, lying side by side in a pool of stained glass. She had not spoken as she stood, frozen in fear and shock and the sudden silence of her no longer beating heart, when Kingsley raced out the front door to check the bodies, passing the Cup of Hufflepuff to Luna almost as an afterthought as he raced to Harry's side. She had barely registered that while Moody's body was contorted, twisted, and broken, Harry's looked pristine. It was only when Kingsley shot them all a nod and a small smile that her heart started again, her brain flashed back on and she could move. He was alive. That was all that mattered. Now, finally, she added to the conversation.

"If he is unharmed, then why isn't he awake?"

The change of subject startled the crowd; Hermione saw everyone in the room jump in unison.

"Sorry," she continued, "But if there's no damage, then why isn't Harry awake yet?"

Barrie looked crestfallen. "I said there's no damage on the outside, lass. But whatever saved him from that fall didn't leave Harry untouched. I've done everything I could think of to wake him up, but nothing has worked so far. I'd hazard to guess that I could put out a candle on Harry's arm, and he'd not feel a twinge. No, he's only fine on the outside, Hermione. On the skin, and in the organs. But in his mind, I'd say there were a great many things broken."

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"And the bloke believed that we actually keep our corpses under the bed sheets?"

It was so strange for Harry to hear his father laughing, when all he had heard before were screams of panic. And it wasn't just James's laughter. Sirius and Lupin were chuckling along with him. Harry felt a surge of deep contentment.

"It's so wonderful to hear you laugh, Dad. I could stay here forever, and never feel the need to leave."

The laughter began to die. James's voice sounded concerned.

"This…this isn't real, Harry. This is only a snapshot. Your mind's idea of what we would be like if we were all here. It's all in your head son." Harry was wishing it so hard he could almost feel his father's hand on his shoulder.

"You can't stay here," said Sirius, at his father's side. "This is only a stopping point; a moment's pause. You had just done serious magic, the kind of magic most wizards couldn't do even if they tried. And you did it without trying, without your wand. You stopped yourself from dying. And that sort of exertion should have been enough to snap your soul in half. If your mind hadn't drawn you in, there's no telling what might've happened."

"Might've gone round the bend," Harry heard George say.

"And back again," said Fred.

Harry heard all the voices. The voices of his friends, his family; all the good men and women he had ever known. Then it dawned on him; there were some missing.

"Ron. Draco. Where is Hermione?"

"You've got her locked up inside you somewhere. She's the key, mate," said Ron, sounding very serious. Draco agreed.

"If you want to get out, Potter, you go through her."

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Hermione had been sent to go retrieve some fresh clothes for Harry; the fall had taken quite a bit more out of them than it had out of Harry. The winding path to Gryffindor Tower disappeared faster than usual tonight. She wanted more than anything to get back to Harry. In case he woke up while she was away. Or in case he didn't…

"He can't die," muttered Hermione to herself.

_He really can_, came a voice in her head, sounding uncannily like John Constantine. _People die all the time. Harry's just a boy…boys die every day._

"But he lived. He's the boy…man, who lived. Again."

_If he lives, will you take the initiative? Will he be the boy who lives For You?_

"I don't know," said Hermione, exasperated. All of the horror of the past few hours had been eating away at her. The sight of Harry's body, lying serenely next to Moody's broken corpse. The fact that Harry would not wake up. Everything was become a blur.

"I don't know if I can take another surprise tonight."

She had reached the Gryffindor Tower. It was empty. Most of the Gryffindors were asleep, except for Neville, who was waiting in the Common Room. He rose as she entered.

"Thought you might be Harry," Neville said, sleepily. "I wanted to wait for him until he got back."

"He'll be back soon enough, Neville," Hermione said kindly, although she was not completely sure she believed it. "You should get some sleep. You've done enough tonight."

Neville nodded. It looked like he had barely enough strength to continue. Hermione remembered how Neville had lifted Harry from the ground outside the Refuge, and carried him to the Portkey. Neville, who had been the trio's most fervent ally, ever since the first year. Hermione smiled.

"Your parents would've been proud of you tonight," she called after him, as he ascended to the Boy's Tower. "And I'm proud of you too."

"Thanks," said Neville. "And thank Harry for me when he wakes up."

_When he wakes up._

Hermione made her way into the Head's Common Room. The fire was still burning brightly, even though it was very late. Hermione realized the room must have known there was no one back yet, and prepared for their arrival. Hermione entered Harry's room, and found the sheets had been turned down, and there was a fresh towel draped on the side of the bed. Everything was prepared for Harry to be there. But he wasn't. Silently, Hermione began to cry.

_Does a room remain a room, even after the person has left it?_

She noticed some of Harry's affects still lying around. His Firebolt was lying, almost reverently, along the back of Harry's desk, with the Broomstick Polishing Kit Hermione had gotten him for his 13th birthday out next to it. A packet of Chocolate Frogs hopped nervously inside their containers, on top of a book of defensive magic, opened to a moving diagram of defensive wand movements. And on Harry's dresser was the diary she had given him for his last birthday. It was opened, but had been placed face down. Hermione fought the urge to read it. _But it's his business_, she chided herself. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she pulled out her wand.

"_Accio_ Pajamas!" she cried. From the top drawer of the dresser flew a pair of warm flannel pajamas. On their way out, they bumped the dresser, knocking the diary over. Hermione sighed. She wished things could be just as Harry left them. For when he _came back_ she thought harshly. Stooping, she picked up the book, and was surprised to see her name at the top of the page.

_Dear Hermione,_ it began…

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"Why her?" asked Harry.

"Hermione forces out the strongest responses from you," replied Lupin, sounding to Harry like he was explaining why Grindylows couldn't survive above water. "Hermione is your smelling salt. The love you feel can guide you. Not only out of your own mind, but through the world. Love is a beacon, the strongest one known to man. And your heart can follow the signal it receives anywhere. But you have decided to block the signal, to ignore your own impulses, and it has blinded you from Hermione in here."

"Can't stop the signal, eh Harry?" came a new voice. Harry felt his mind pulse. The voice…so close. The voice he had never expected to hear again.

"Ginny?"

"Love is one powerful feeling, isn't it? It can lead werewolves and witches together, or cause people to make incredibly foolish and brave gestures."

"Ginny…I'm so sorry."

"You didn't kill me Harry."

"No, but these feelings. I fell in love, so soon after losing you. It is like I'm killing you all over again." Harry felt his emotions spilling out like blood from a new wound. The reason he couldn't begin fresh. Ginny was still inside his mind. To love Hermione was to betray Ginny's memory.

"I'm sorry I didn't stay true to you…"

"The only way you could betray me, Harry, is if you denied what your heart truly felt. I'm gone, and I can't reach you the way I used to. The only way to be true to me is to live. Live to the fullest, because I can't anymore. You've got dark days coming, and you will need all your friends, especially Hermione, to get through this, alive. So stop being a prat and TELL HER!"

Harry felt the ground give way beneath him, and the feeling of wind rushing by. He was speeding, which direction he did not know, but knew that it wouldn't matter. His eyes were of no use. All that mattered was the feeling in his heart. And he knew it was leading him straight toward her…

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Harry woke with such a start that he nearly fell out of bed. The world around him seemed so much brighter, as if it now burned with a purpose. He saw that he was in the Hospital Wing. Someone had changed him into a pair of his pajamas. Harry jumped out of bed with such vigor that he didn't even see Ron sprawled out in a chair, or Draco leaning sleepily against the wall next to him. He didn't even see Barrie, not until he ran flat into him at the doorway.

"Ach! You could watch where you goin'…Harry!" Barrie looked shocked. "What're you doin' out of bed, mate? We don't even know why you lived! I'm gonna have to insist on you going back this instant!"

"Where's Hermione?" asked Harry. Barrie wasn't sure if Harry had heard any of what he just said.

"She left a while ago, after getting you some fresh clothes from upstairs," said Ron, who was attempting to block Harry from the door as well. Barrie wasn't finished yet, either.

"I know you're concerned about your friends, mate, but you need to rest! You canna be gallivanting off in the middle of the night to…"

"She also left you this note," said Malfoy. He had remained right where he was, leaning coolly against the wall, looking serenely unconcerned. Harry walked up to him, and snatched the letter from his hands.

_Dear Hermione…_

"Why would she…but this is my letter!" exclaimed Harry. It was the letter he had written last night…_how had Hermione gotten it? No one is supposed to be able to open it…unless I didn't close it…Oh God._

Harry turned back toward the door, and Ron and Barrie once again took up their defensive positions. Draco calmly put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Did you read the other side, though?" he asked, softly. Harry was slightly amazed by the tone of caring in Malfoy's voice. _Almost unnatural_. Harry flipped the page over. On the other side of the letter, there was a short sentence, written in Hermione's careful, precise handwriting.

_All the same, and much more._

_-Hermione_

To Harry, it seemed that the world fell away. All that was left were his thoughts, his feelings of pure happiness. _She knows, and she feels the same._ The world had suddenly become an amazing place, filled with unending possibilities and the joy of love, true, passionate love. Harry blinked. _Then why the bloody hell am I still in the hospital wing!?_

"Steady on, steady on, there!" cried Barrie. Harry had not even realized that his feet had been carrying him toward the door at ramming velocities. Barrie now had both his hands and feet lodged firmly against the door, struggling to keep Harry inside the room. Ron and Draco joined him, pulling Harry back with all the force they could muster. It was barely enough.

"Let me through! LET ME THROUGH! I need to find her!"

"Find who?" asked Ron, though he had an idea.

"Hermione!"

"There will be plenty of time for Hermione after we run a few tests…" cried Barrie. Harry pushed even harder against him.

"No time! No tests!"

"Harry, we don't know why you're _alive_ right now! You need to be careful! It could be a passing thing!"

"I don't care!" cried Harry. "Hermione says she loves me too!"

Barrie stopped struggling, as did Ron and Draco. Barrie looked suddenly shocked.

"Then why are you in here!?" he shouted, looking at Harry incredulously. "Get going! Find Hermione!" He began pushing Harry towards the door. Even in his hurry to help him, Harry felt the slightest bit surprised.

"But, what about testing? What about nearly being dead, and staying in the Hospital Wing?"

"The Hospital Wing will be here when you get back! GO!" shouted Barrie, seizing Harry by the back of his neck and flinging him out the door. Ron and Draco both gave each other excited, mischievous glances.

"Now, what do you think will happen there?" asked Draco, attempting to sound bored and only mildly curious.

"One of two things," surmised Ron. "One: They'll rush into each other's arms, love will conquer all, and they'll end up attached at the mouth from now until they are pried apart by a trained crew of medi-wizards." Draco nodded.

"And two?"

"Well," began Ron. "Just because she loves him doesn't mean that Hermione won't hex him for that same period of time for not having the minerals to walk up and tell her how he felt." Draco nodded again, thinking both scenarios held intriguing possibilities as far as entertainment went.

"Would make for some interesting dinner-theater," said Draco. "We should probably give them some space."

"Probably should," agreed Ron. "Always important to allow these relationships to begin with a bit of alone time. Let them work through the next few impossibly important minutes on their own."

Barrie, who had not been able to stop grinning long enough to join in the discussion, added, "But you won't, will you?"

"Of course not!" cried Ron, and he and Draco both bounded for the door as well.

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Harry's mind was racing nearly as fast as his feet. Hermione's short response kept flashing like a strobe light through his mind. _If only I could Apparate_, he thought, with a passionate rage born of too much time spent not obeying his own heart, _I could be there already!_ Harry supposed she would be waiting in the Common Room, but when he got there, he found it empty. Hurriedly, he opened the door to the Head's Room. _Not here either!_ He thought, an excited rage bursting through his body. Harry ran to his room, and found it empty as well. He ran quickly through the bathroom, to the door of Hermione's bedroom. He wrenched the knob, but it held firm. Her door was locked. Rushing through to the door in the Head's Common Room, he tried again, only to find this one locked as well. Frantically, he began to pound on the door, feeling that he would rip it off its hinges if need be.

"Hermione!" he yelled, wishing he could only see her, to touch her, to kiss her. "Hermione, please open the door!"

There was no response. Harry waited a moment, listening so hard that he could almost hear his ears listening. Hermione was on the other side of that door. He couldn't hear it, nor could he see it. But he could feel it. There was a twinge, an electrical surge in the air, which told Harry he was close. He tried again.

"Hermione? Please? Are you in there?"

Harry heard the latch click, and the door swung open, fast. Hermione stood before him, still dressed in the clothes she had worn to the Refuge with tears streaking down her face. Before he could stop himself, Harry reached out a hand, and stroked the tears away. The spark, the ever-vigilant spark, wove its way down Hermione's back. Only this time, Harry felt it too. A surge of emotion as he had never felt before began to course through his fingertips, as if Hermione were stepping on a live wire and it forced his feet forward, his other hand reaching to touch her as well. Suddenly, Hermione pulled back.

"You…you love me," she said. It sounded as if she was troubled by this fact. Harry's eyes widened in fear as his heart froze in his chest.

"Yes…" he said. "I do."

"You loved me when you left…left tonight. You loved me when you were nearly killed out there." Harry could only nod. He knew he had been a fool not to tell her straight away.

"You loved me, and the only thing you told was the _book!?_" said Hermione, exasperated.

"I…I didn't know how to…yes." Said Harry. Any excuse he could think of sounded childish and unworthy in his mind. So instead of focusing on the past, Harry decided to push forward. "But I do love you, Hermione. I'm sorry it took me this long to say. I'm so sorry. I was afraid of so many things, and…it seemed…" Harry couldn't find words to show how ashamed he was of his cowardice. Hermione stepped closer, her body head pressing against his skin.

"Harry…" lightly she caressed his cheek, lifting his chin so his eyes met hers. "Just promise me one thing." She whispered as she moved through those last inches separating them, as her legs brushed his, her heart practically beat against his chest.

Harry's heart leapt up into his throat. She was suddenly so close to him; inches, millimeters, too close to keep his hands to himself. On their own, it seemed, they were on her hips, holding tightly, so afraid she'd move away again, be out of their reach again.

"The next time you fall in love with me, don't wait until you're almost dead to tell me."

And finally she touched her lips to his.

As Harry's arms tightened around her, as her hands dove into his thick jet black hair, the light in the room seemed to dim for a moment, as if all the energy, all the power in the very air was pouring fast as mercury into the oblivious pair lost in each other. And then, it exploded out again. The fire in the fireplace shot sparks into the air, sparks of red, green, blue, and all the colors in between. The sparks became incandescent before burning as brightly as great fireballs, bouncing off the floor and ceiling, leading each other in merry chases. Then, they all began to swirl quickly around Harry and Hermione, whirling about the two, causing their hair to blow in the colorful wind. As their lips met and held, fought and warred, soothed and explored, that spark, that tiny tormenting spark within them, grew to a full blaze in their hearts, and both Harry and Hermione felt the earth drop from beneath their feet. Without knowing it, they lifted from the ground, floating above, caught up and surrounded by the power of their love, their very happiness. The lights danced and circled around the two lovers, as Harry changed the angle of the kiss, hands running in a caress up her back to bury his fingers in her thick, soft hair. The lights brightened just a bit as Hermione's knees trembled and Harry gathered her closer, somehow supporting her even as his own knees trembled, as he lost himself in the beauty of her lips, her smell, her taste. As they lost themselves in the kiss, the heat built up between them until Hermione felt sure she would explode or they would explode or the very world would burn up in fast, hot flames.

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The magic fire encircling the two lovers was such that neither Harry nor Hermione noticed the company in the room; it helped that Ron and Draco were trying as hard as they could to be invisible. The reality in the small common room seemed to be defying rules that even magic abided within the rest of the world. Draco tugged on Ron's sleeve.

"We should be leaving."

Ron shook his head. First, these were his friends, and this was a very special moment. Second, how often did you get to see a show like this?

"If they wanted me to keep out, they shouldn't have given me the password to the Head Room. It's their own bloody fault, really."

Draco looked unconvinced. "That's not regular magic there, Ron. Do you want to be here when it reaches the finale that it's building toward right…"

BANG!

The lights, so beautiful, had begun to bounce off of each other with greater ferocity, like a symphony reaching a passionate, frenzied, sweaty crescendo, until finally they all merged in a thrill of colors. Soon, they were pooling, collecting, like iron shavings on a magnet, and becoming opaque. The lovers were hidden from view as the collected light took shape around them, whirling and pulsing, until one final pulse sucked them in, and blew them out.

The next thing Ron and Draco knew, they were lying in a crumpled heap outside of the Head Room.

Draco's head was throbbing. "How…long've we been out?"

"_Mmmmmmmmmmphf."_

"What?"

"_MMMMMMMMMPHF!"_

"Ron, I can't hear a word out of your mouth!"

"_GrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRMPHF THAT'S BECAUSE YOU LANDED ON IT, YOU CLOD!"_

Draco leapt to his feet, disgusted. "Sorry!" he said, and shuddered. Apologies still didn't feel…right to him.

"S'alright," said Ron dusting himself off. "And it looks like we've been out for…huh."

"Huh?" replied Draco. "'Huh' is not a unit of measurement, specifically not for lengths of time spent unconscious!"

"My watch has stopped," replied Ron, tapping it with his finger. "Well, not stopped working so much as stopped working _correctly._"

Draco looked down at his own watch. The hands were spinning so quickly they were beginning to emit small puffs of smoke a high, whining, squeal. He quickly shook it off his wrist, and tossed it to the ground, where the watch promptly burst into flames.

"Oh," said Draco. "Huh."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A quick call for help to the teachers later, and Lupin was standing in the Head's Room, steadily, albeit nervously, approaching Harry and Hermione. Approaching them was one thing; reaching them was still quite another. The pair, still locked in each other's arms, floated effortlessly, five feet off the floor.

"At least they've stopped fizzing," said Ron, still rubbing his throbbing head.

"Extraordinary," whispered Lupin, circling the lovers. "I've never seen power like this. Good or evil, this is on another plane. Far beyond my knowledge, and I think the knowledge of anyone else. Anyone left alive at least."

Ron moved up, hesitantly, to his floating friends.

"Ummm…guys? You want to come down from there? We've got a few questions? Guys?"

The only response was a brief flash of lightning between Harry and Hermione's eyes. Draco reached up, and tentatively poked the bottom of Harry's shoe. No shock met his hand.

"They've cooled down," he said thankfully.

"The power…" said Lupin. "They have to transfer it, to keep it under control. You see the charges, going between their eyes?" He pointed, just as another bolt of lightning shot between them.

"There is so much power, just looking for an outlet."

"Should we try to get them down?" asked Ron. Lupin nodded.

"We can't just leave them up there…" Slowly, he took out his wand.

"_Ennervate."_

The spell bounced off the walls, causing Draco to duck.

"That spell's only supposed to be used on the unconscious!" he shouted. "Do you have any idea what would've happened if that had hit me?"

"No," said Lupin, not listening. "So, they're not asleep. They're not unconscious. They're just…what?"

"Just in love," said Ron, with a slight grin. He walked over to Harry and Hermione, and rested a hand on Harry's shoe.

"So, Harry, enjoying the view from up there?" Harry blinked once. The first response anyone had been able to get from him.

"Time to come down, mate. You can bring Hermione with you."

Slowly, spinning in a lazy circle, Harry and Hermione floated to the floor. They did not, however, stop looking at each other.

"Wow…" breathed Harry, his voice dry. Hermione cocked an eyebrow.

"Just…just wow?" she said, breathlessly.

"Sorry," said Harry. "My brain doesn't seem to be working right now. What would you call it?"

Ron, sensing that Hermione could arrive at a mountain of adjectives before she was finished, rushed in between them.

"Alright there, Romeo, no time to hear about it now. I think you're still needed down in the Hospital Wing."

"How long were we here?" asked Harry.

"Only about fifteen minutes," replied Lupin. "If you head back now, I don't think Madame Pomfrey will take too much more of your time."

"Fifteen minutes?" said Hermione. "It felt like days…" She caught Harry's eye, and the two of them smiled self-consciously. Draco began to gag loudly behind them.

"Let's go," he said. "Any more of that, and I'll need to be locked in the Hospital Wing too."

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"There has never been a case like this since…well, ever, so far as I can tell," said Barrie, after spending an hour testing Harry's various reflexes. "Twice the strength you used to have, reflexes have doubled as well, but the amazing thing is Hermione."

Barrie had noticed the "amazing thing" while drawing blood from Harry's arm. As Harry winced, Hermione grabbed his hand reassuringly. That was when all the lights in the Hospital Wing glowed, sparked, and then burst merrily into flame.

"I'd like to perform one more test," he said, pulling Harry away from Hermione. Harry followed, reluctantly. "Harry, what kind of briefs do you have on?" Harry started.

"What? That's…I…you…what?!" Barrie turned to Hermione.

"Do you know, lass?" Hermione looked shocked.

"Of _course_ not," she said. "It's not as if there was time!" She muttered.

"How is this a helpful question?" Harry asked, clearly bolstered away from embarrassment by Hermione's muttered statement.

"Please, Harry, in the interests of science, whisper in my ear."

Harry's eyes told Barrie that the interests of science had better be pretty damn high. Rolling his eyes, he whispered something in Barrie's ear. Barrie snorted, and fighting to maintain composure, led Harry back to Hermione. Barrie put Harry's hand in hers.

"Now, think hard, lad. What kind? Think about what they look like in your mind."

Harry rolled his eyes, but shut them obediently. After five seconds, Hermione began to giggle uncontrollably.

"What?" said Ron, looking non-plussed. "What's so funny?"

"Honestly, Harry," said Hermione. "I didn't know they made boxers with little Golden Snitches on them!" Harry's face turned deep red, but Barrie and Lupin looked excited.

"ESP?" Lupin said, turning to Barrie. "Is that even possible?"

"This is new ground," replied Barrie. "I can't say anything _not_ possible right now!"

"But think of what this means…with practice, they might be able to speak with each other over distances of…well, who knows how far? And with only their minds!"

"We're only scratching the surface," said Barrie. "With luck, there could be no end to this! We've got to test!"

"But why?" interjected Ron. "Why can Harry do this all of a sudden? And why couldn't he do it before? I didn't notice these two being telepathic at breakfast this morning!"

No one spoke for a moment. They didn't know the answer.

"Only guessing here," said Barrie, "But this might have been latent."

"Like Harry was born with this power?" said Hermione.

"Or was given it," said Lupin. "No one has ever survived a Killing Curse before. This could be another effect."

"Could also have to do with some feelings I've been having lately," said Harry, throwing in his two cents.

"Hermione," said Draco. Harry nodded.

"In my head, when I was asleep, the voices told me Hermione was the key." He took her hand. "I was thinking of Hermione as I fell out of the tower, wishing I could be with her one more time, so I could tell her how I felt. And then when we…well." Harry cleared his throat. It was still a bit awkward discussing private moments. He didn't think he'd ever be a public kisser, like Ron and Lavender.

"When we kissed in the room…well, obviously it was pretty wonderful…"

"I'd say it was at that, Potter," snickered Draco. "Not many people float on air when they kiss for the first time."

"At least not literally," interjected Lupin. Harry caught the meaning behind this statement.

"Love." Thoughts were coming together in his mind now. They didn't make sense, except in a strange, theoretical way. And theoretical thoughts were not Harry's forte. He went forward, cautiously.

"When I was talking to Dumbledore, he once told me I had one weapon that Voldemort would never have. He said love was a great weapon. My mother's love saved me when I was a child." He put an arm around Hermione's waist.

"I think it saved me again tonight. And now, it's given me more power than I had before. Power enough to fight against Voldemort, and the forces of hate. The forces of darkness." Everyone looked slightly shocked at this pronouncement. Only Lupin looked pensive.

"It would explain why the power grows stronger when the two of you are physically touching," he said, stroking his chin. "The feelings you have are being made physical, the magic reacts with the love you feel, and enhances the power you were given."

"And that was only when you were kissing!" laughed Ron. "Remind me not to be nearby if the two of you ever choose to get a little more _physical_ with your feelings later on…"

Draco decided that this was an opportune time to hit Ron smartly on the back of the head.

"Ron, your mouth is speaking. You should look to that." Ron grimaced, but nodded.

"Well, no matter what," said Lupin. "This is an amazing night. Harry, off to bed with you. We'll be needing to do some more tests with the both of you, I'm sure. But that can wait until tomorrow. Also, be prepared to test these new powers physically. I was going to bring in some people to train you in physical combat. With these…changes, I think they'll have to be called in a bit sooner than I expected."

"Try not to dwell on these powers too much, Harry," said Barrie, smiling. "You've just acknowledged one of the greatest feelings a man can have. Think about that instead."

Everyone else muttered their agreement, and Harry took this as his cue to leave. Hermione went with him, followed closely by Ron and Draco.

"Well, I'm off to bed as well," said Draco. "With all the talk of love, my stomach's feeling a bit off. Think I might need to go throw up…a lot."

"You should go do that, then," said Harry, annoyed. Draco smirked, but before he left, gave both Harry and Hermione a quick, and to Harry's astonishment, honest handshake. Ron looked like a miracle had been performed before his eyes.

"Never knew the weasel had it in him!" he said.

"I'm surprised myself…" said Hermione, also smiling.

As they reached the Common Room, Ron pulled Hermione aside.

"I couldn't be happier for you," he said, and kissed her hand. Hermione pulled him into a hug that squeezed the air from his lungs.

"Thank you, Ron," she said, "You are…so…sweet!"

"Alright, alright!" gasped Ron. "I'm going to need to breathe sometime soon!" Hermione let go, her lips trembling, and began to walk back into the Head Room. Ron caught Harry's arm though, as he moved to follow her.

"Hope you're not expecting a big hug from me too," Harry said.

"Nah," said Ron, derisively. "But you're the luckiest man on earth tonight, you know that don't you?"

Harry nodded. "And many more nights to come." He turned to follow Hermione. Ron stopped him again.

"Harry," he said. Harry turned. The "Big Brother" look had returned to his eyes.

"Yeah?"

"I don't think I have to remind you that the regular ground rules apply here," he said.

"Ground rules?" said Harry. He thought he knew what speech was coming. But he couldn't resist giving Ron the chance to give it.

"Hermione's as precious to me as she is to you. Just in a different way. If you hurt her," he said, pointing first to his heart, "Here, or anywhere else, I will be forced to hurt you more. If you hurt her more than what I deem to be a "hurting you" amount, I will find much pleasure in hurting you in a somewhat more permanent fashion. Understand?"

"Perfectly."

"Fantastic!" said Ron, and before Harry could act, pulled him into a hug as well.

"I've never been so proud of the two of you as I am tonight," he said.

"You're as good a friend as either of us could ask for," said Harry. This was new for him, but he felt like the whole trio had matured tonight. No longer were they a trio of students, solving mysteries and getting into trouble. Their world had evolved over the past seven years. Tonight, they had caught up with it.

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As Harry prepared for bed, his mind swam with how much had changed tonight. The world seemed to have opened with marvelous, uncountable possibilities, and right at the center were Hermione and himself. Every time he thought of their first kiss, Harry felt the power in his heart surge. He felt like singing, and the world looked to his eyes a million times brighter than it had been that morning. A soft knock returned him to reality.

"Yes?"

"Harry, it's me." Harry froze. Hermione was coming to see him…in his bedroom. His teenage mind suddenly went haywire, and he felt the sudden, urgent desire both to run and stay exactly where he was. He compromised, and opened the door instead.

Hermione stood before him, in her long nightgown. Her eyes were full of love and…worry.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked. He took her hand, and flashes of Hermione's thoughts raced through his own. She was remembering their first kiss, earlier that night, the amazing feelings they shared, all of their adventures, and how close they had come over seven years…but then there were brief flashes of last year. The way he had acted toward Dean. His first kiss with Ginny. And finally, the scene, the terrible scene at the wedding. Ginny's body falling limply onto the altar, as the Killing Curse passed through her. Hermione's eyes looked up into his.

Harry rubbed his head. "It'll take me a while to get used to this telepathy thing." Hermione still looked serious.

"This feeling…the way I feel for you…I've never felt anything this strong before. And I've never been so certain of anything in my life. Harry, I think I know the answer already, but I have to say something." Harry took her hand, ready for the question.

"I'm not her."

Harry stared, dumbstruck.

"Sorry?"

"I'm not Ginny, Harry." Hermione looked like she hated herself for bringing this up, but Harry understood why. She was worried that she was only a placeholder. A placeholder for someone who was never coming back.

"She was taken from you, from all of us, so quickly. And you were getting along so well. I just worry…what if she hadn't died? Would you be feeling like this? Would you…love me?"

"I don't know," said Harry, honestly. "Ginny and I were only beginning to be a couple, but I never felt with her the way I did tonight with you. I can't predict what today might be like if Ginny was here. And it's pointless to try, because she's not here. If we go on second-guessing, we'll be stuck in one place, forever. I can't tell you what life would be like if Ginny were here. All I can tell you is this: You're right."

Hermione looked hurt, and slightly confused.

"You're not Ginny. I never loved her like I love you."

They fell into each other's arms. This kiss was as exciting as the first, enough to cause the power to surge between them, but Harry was surprised to find that the feeling only grew with familiarity, like a favorite food that tasted better every time you tried it. Starving for her lips, Harry kissed her ferociously. Finally, she pulled back.

"It's late, Harry," Hermione whispered, looking frustrated. She seemed to be weighing her options, struggling against the more primal side of her desires. Harry caught a glimpse of her thoughts, and remembered with a start that she once was a fan of romance novels. Finally, she pulled out of his embrace, and went through her door, back into her own room.

"Goodnight." Harry watched her slip into the covers, and turned so that her eyes could see into his room.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

He watched her as he fell asleep, watched as her eyes glinted in the semi-darkness of the smoldering fires. If he had stayed awake a few moments longer, he would have seen them close. But they fell asleep, together, in the dying firelight.

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_Harry...Harry…_

"Harry! Wake UP!"

The vision of Hermione standing over him was not the one he thought he'd see the morning after professing his true love. Her eyes were flashing menacingly, and the vague psychic link he had with her let him know that she was angry.

"Whuh? What'd I do? Whuzzamatter?"

"Za matter," she said, mimicking his tired drawl, "is that we have to be downstairs for breakfast in ten minutes! It's a Thursday, Harry. We have Head Duties!"

Harry groaned. _Wasn't expecting this sort of wake up call anymore._

"Well, you should have been!" said Hermione.

"Don't go into my head this early, Hermione! My thoughts aren't organized yet!" Harry said, sitting up.

"Sorry, Harry. But you shouldn't expect my treatment of you to change. If we're late, we're late, whether I'm head over heels for you or not!" She threw a clean shirt at him from across the room.

"Head over heels for me?" asked Harry, with a wry grin, after pulling the shirt from his face.

"Yes, which, by the way, I _am._" She threw her arms around him, and gave him a quick kiss. _The surge, again!_ Thought Harry. He hoped it never went away.

"Oh, Harry, I had such wonderful dreams last night! You and I were flying!"

"I guess you've gotten over your fear of broomsticks, then," said Harry, pulling his shirt on.

"No…well yes, I think I have! But no, we weren't on broomsticks. We weren't on anything. There was no magic, as far as I can tell. We were just flying…like it was natural. One of the most vivid dreams I've ever had." She smiled, and flung herself down onto his bed. Harry felt her reliving the dream in her mind.

"Did you dream?"

Harry turned away, trying to block his head, to keep her out. He had dreamed. He had dreamed of a voice, echoing in his head. _You've killed her now. You've killed her too. She will die, like the other, and it will be your fault, Harry Potter._ The voice echoed in his head, crashing like cymbals. After the euphoria of last night, he had found it very difficult to sleep with this dream.

"Harry? Are you trying to block me?"

"Sorry," said Harry, opening his mind. _Might as well tell the truth. I must not tell lies._

"Oh, Harry," said Hermione, sitting up and pulling at his hand. He sat next to her on the bed. "I always knew you had a lot on your mind, but the dark in there. It's like a cave. You had a dream, and it was…"

"And it was nothing important," said Harry, reaching up to caress her cheek. "Because I know the truth, and it's much more powerful."

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Yeeeeesh. That took a while. Grad School in CHINA sort of takes up bits and pieces of my time! Hopefully, the next chapter will come faster. Please review this, if you don't mind!


	20. Chapter 20: The Revenge

Disclaimer: Harry and Hermione aren't mine. They just like my story BETTER! And much thanks to my editor, who deserves a better day for all the work she does. Thanks from the bottom of my heart, M the bedraggled editor.

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Chapter 20: The Revenge

Harry had long ago learned that no other place in the world spread news, welcome or unwelcome, faster than Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. So, coming down to breakfast the morning after he and Hermione expressed their feelings, he was not at all surprised when they were met with tumultuous applause (From three out of the four tables). Seamus Finnegan came over and slapped his back when he sat down at the Gryffindor table.

"About time you two figured it out!" he shouted. "Mind you, I would've preferred it if you had waited until next month, around the eighth or so. Maybe even around nine-thirty that evening. Then I wouldn't be out five galleons."

"What're you talking about?" asked Harry, bewildered. Seamus looked shocked.

"What? Oh! Right. Naturally, you two wouldn't have known about the pool going."

"What pool?" asked Hermione.

"The 'When are Harry and Hermione Going to Stop being Stupid and Get Together' Pool," said Ron, smirking as he sauntered over. "The initials don't spell anything, so don't try. I had my money on Christmas Break myself. I thought it would be the perfect time. And if it looked like you weren't quite ready to pair off yet, well…I think I still have one or two of those chocolates I got last year, just in case."

"So, everyone thought we were going to get together?"

"No. Draco bet against you, but he said it was only on general principle."

"But all the other students were betting for us?" said Hermione.

"Lupin's not a student!" said Ron.

"Neither's Barrie," said Dean Thomas.

Harry rolled his eyes. Even _Lupin._

"But yeah, everyone else was sure you were going to get together. Especially the two who won."

"There were two students who won?" asked Harry.

"Ex-students…" muttered Ron.

"A fine day to return to out old stomping grounds, isn't it Fred?" called George Weasely, turning heads as he and his twin entered the hall.

Harry groaned. Of course.

"A most delightful day. Auspicious, one might call it!" replied Fred.

"And what day might that be?"

"It is…Thursday, Brother."

"Why, then that must make it…Pay-Day." Said George, making a beeline for the Gryffindor table, and for Harry and Hermione. Fred pretended to swoon.

"George! Is that really him? Is it Harry Potter? Pinch me, I'm dreaming…OUCH! You didn't really have to pinch me!"

"You told me to!"

"Well, it is a lovely day for so many reasons then, if these two half-wits finally locked lips."

"And if we get paid! Oh, _Roooooon!_"

Ron flinched. "Couldn't have waited another month…" he muttered through gritted teeth.

Harry looked at Hermione, who was pretending to read the Daily Prophet, though her eyes hadn't moved yet.

"You know, sometimes I think we are the thickest ones here." He said.

"I know," said Hermione. "We could've made a bundle of Galleons if we'd only paid attention. We would've gotten the date right, I think."

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The rest of the day went by so regularly that Harry could hardly believe that it was only last night that he told Hermione he loved her. In fact, people were less surprised by their romance than by the news of Moody's death, which had finally made it through the walls of the Hospital Wing earlier that day. Harry was surprised that no one had said anything about Dawlish, or the Ministry's involvement, but that secret must have been kept more guarded.

"Never thought we'd see the day when Mad-Eye finally snuffed it," said Ron at lunch. "I thought he'd always be there."

"I felt the same about Dumbledore," said Harry. "And about Sirius."

"Suppose it's safe to say that we can't be sure of anyone's safety these days," said Neville. "All we can do is keep…well…constant vigilance."

"I might be able to help with that," said Lupin, who had been walking by. "What with last night's…surprises, and the added threat that the Ministry now poses, I think tonight calls for an emergency meeting of the DA. Not all of you, of course. You, Harry, and Hermione. Ron, of course. Draco, Luna, and Neville too, I should think. There are only three of them coming, but it's important that the leaders are there to meet them, so you can pass on any lessons to the younger recruits."

"Only three of who?" said Hermione.

"Only three of The Revenge."

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That night, Harry, Ron, and Hermione met Neville in the Common Room. They were all trying to look calm and collected, but Harry for one felt nervous. Hermione had searched for The Revenge in the Library, but only a few vague mentions of bloody violence were linked to the name. It always worried Hermione when there were no solid leads in the Library. It was against everything she had come o believe. With his new power, Harry could feel her nervousness, and it only doubled his own. But what surprised him was that Hermione was able to hide this fact from Ron and Neville. She was walking resolutely, talking to Ron as if this were any other night. Only Harry knew her stomach was flipping somersaults. _Still weird to feel her emotions,_ he thought, and was surprised when Hermione turned.

"I…I heard that!" she said.

"But we weren't touching," said Harry. "Were you thinking particularly hard?"

"No. It just sort of…popped in there."

"You two are seriously beginning to creep me out," said Draco, who had just joined them on the third floor.

"I don't know," said Luna dreamily, coming from the opposite hallway. "I think it's romantic. Just like magic…"

"It is magic, Luna," said Neville, grinning slightly.

"And I'd say it's quite the romantic notion, too," said Lupin. He had appeared behind them, wearing his old fencing jacket again. Harry groaned inwardly. The jacket meant that tonight would most likely be full of bruised ribs and sweat.

"Now, you're about to meet The Revenge, or at least three of them. They're very secretive, and more than a little…stand-offish, so be polite. All of you," he added, flicking his eyes to Draco.

"But who are they?" asked Hermione.

"You're about to find out," said Lupin. "I want them to make the introductions."

"I just hope _they're_ polite," said Draco. Harry noticed he had a twitch around his eye.

"Nervous?" Harry asked.

"Malfoys don't get nervous, Potter. We pride ourselves on the fact that no one can phase us, not even some group of secret tosspots called the Rev-GAH!" Draco spun, clutching his heart, and then breathed a sigh of relief. Luna had just tapped him on the shoulder.

"Right," said Ron. "Regular bastion of strength, you are."

"I feel safer already," said Neville, moving past him.

"Why'd you poke me?" Draco said crossly as Luna passed him as well.

"Well, you were just standing there at the door to the Room of Requirement, and it looked to me like you had no intention of going in," said Luna, dreamily, as she stepped lightly over the doorway, and into the room.

When Harry entered the Room of Requirement, he felt as if he had walked into the Middle Ages. There was a circle of small stones in the middle of the room, surrounded by candles, and the chandelier above them illuminated the floor with the soft, pale light of a thousand flickering candles. The inside of the circle was covered with fresh, clean straw. Harry wondered why there were no mattresses, as when the DA practiced. His heart gave a small leap of excitement as he saw, along the wall, weapons. Not guns, not even modern knives. There were long swords, battle-axes, maces, a flail, and what looked like a fisherman's pike. Interspersed with these were short daggers, and a strange mechanism that looked like it had springs attached along a long, slender tube of steel. Lined along a long table were wooden staffs of various lengths. And lying in a corner, with several small, lethal looking arrows. Lying beside it was a handheld crossbow.

"Welcome," came a voice behind them, "to the Devil's Dance Floor."

Harry started, and turned…to find three people with the strangest assortment of clothes he had ever seen. The man standing in front of the other two was tall and reedy, with blonde flyaway hair underneath a black bowler hat. The hat and the hair partially covered his eyes, which seemed to blaze with an inner fire, as if the man was constantly set at a simmer. Harry had never seen such an emotion coming from such grey eyes. Over one of the man's shoulders was a bow, and over his other a quiver of arrows. He held a staff in his hands, as long and slender as he was. His clothes were dark: a long dark brown coat, black pants with innumerable pockets, black Converse All-Stars on his feet, and a black shirt with the words 'Some People Play Tennis. I Erode the Human Soul' written across the chest.

The woman behind him had the eyes of a much older person, but the body and the face of a girl of eighteen or nineteen, dusky and teardrop shaped. She wore her auburn hair just below the shoulders, but had several small braids and feathers woven throughout. Her shirt was white, but overlarge. It reminded Harry of the shirts pirates wore in the old movies he had seen at Mrs. Figg's. Her jeans were worn and faded, but had been patched up instead of replaced, including one patch in the shape of a teddy bear. Along her belt, which contained numerous glass vials full of liquids and powders, Harry saw a sheath, but the sword that lived within was presently in her delicate hands. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Draco give the girl a small up and down glance, and a small smile grew on his pale face.

The last member of the trio was small, only to the woman's shoulder, but carried himself with such bravado, you would have thought he were twelve feet tall. He was bald, but made up for it with a smooth beard, waxed to a fine point. However, the most striking feature of this man's face was his nose. It reminded Harry of a goblin's, slender and long, like a dagger. His clothes were something right out of a Renaissance Faire: a pair of thick brown leather boots, breeches, a long sleeved white shirt that looked like it was made of scratchy wool, and a leather jerkin. Harry noticed that his knuckles were tattooed. On his right hand was printed the letters "B-A-D." On his left, the letters "W-O-L-F." His right hand tended to twitch, and Harry was surprised when a long, thin blade sprang out of his sleeve and into his waiting hand, and then back in again. All together, they were a bizarre, yet intimidating group.

"We are," said the blonde, holding his staff lazily over his shoulders, "The Revenge."

The DA held absolutely still. It was not what the man had said; it was the manner in which he said it. Mystery, valor, and violence were all rolled into one and given faces…and now a voice.

"Don't all of you applaud at once, lads and lasses," said the Blonde Man. "It's not every day you get to see The Revenge in person."

"The who?" said Neville.

The Blonde Man looked at his comrades. "Disgraceful, in'it? There was a day when you heard our name, and you quaked in your tennies, kid. What, I suppose they're still feeding you all the old line that we're secretive? Don't like the spotlight? What about you, Raven? Shy away from recognition?"

The woman, apparently Raven, shook her head. "Never said no to a dash of good publicity, or bad for that matter, cher." Her voice had a slow drawl to it. Harry thought it sounded American, but with a bit of drama added in, for flavor.

"How about you, M?" said the Blonde Man, turning this time to the shorter man behind him. He bristled.

"You are as the son of the _BITCH,_ Donovan! At a formal greeting, you will call me nothing short of my formal titles!" The man had a wildly flamboyant Spanish accent, so over the top that Harry for a moment believed that he was making it up. The stream of Spanish obscenities that followed made him consider otherwise.

"Oh shut UP, Skeeter," said Raven, putting an arm around the smaller man. "You gotta learn to let these little things go. Holdin' in all that anger? It's gonna stunt yer growth somethin' fierce if you don't watch it! And you can't get much more stunted!" The small man fought against the woman's arm around his shoulders but apparently she was stronger than she looked. Draco's smile widened substantially.

"Skeeter?" said Hermione, a look of disgust dawning on her face. "As in Rita Skeeter? How is _he_ related to _her?_"

"Rita who?" said the Blonde Man, whom the short man had called Donovan. "No, sweetie, that's just our pet name for him. Well, since you've got his pet name, I suppose we should introduce ourselves. My names Quinn. Donovan Quinn. The lass from across the pond there is Raven Lafitte, and the short fellow with the anger management issues is…"

"I will make my _own_ introductions, thank you _very _much, senor. I am the twelfth Castellan of the noble wizarding De La Vega family, heirs to the throne of magic in Madrid, Bernardo De La V-"

"Right," said Donovan, "This is Mosquito."

"If you had not beaten me in fair combat, Irish _PUERCO,_ I would kill you where you stand! My name is Bernardo De La V-"

"Oh _I_ get it," cawed Draco. "Mosquito. Since he's Spanish! And because he's got a nose just as long as a Mos-"

Mosquito had made it across the wide room in the blink of an eye. His blade, apparently loaded on a spring, had sprung from his sleeve, and was pointed directly at Malfoy's throat. But that was not what caught Harry's attention. What caught it was the transformation that had occurred on the Spaniard's face. His features had twisted, and folded on themselves, until his brow looked magnified, and furrowed, as if he were in a state of incredible anger. His eyes went from deep brown to a bright, yellow, like cat's eyes. And teeth- sharp, jagged fangs- had grown down from his mouth. The man hissed as he spoke, spitting in Malfoy's terrified face.

"My name…_Blanco…_ is Bernardo…De La Vega. You shall remember. Or you shall perish in torment, mongrel!" Draco gave the subtlest of nods, trying to move his neck as little as possible.

"Yeah," said Raven, slightly apologetically. "That's the other reason we call him 'Mosquito.' He's a Spanish bloodsucker. We all are actually," she said, as her face changed into a visage closely resembling her comrade's. With a shrug, Donovan's face changed as well.

"Vampires, that is. Not Spanish," said Donovan. "Luckily, only one of us was afflicted with _that_ incurable ailment."

"You're vampires!?" cried Hermione. "But…I heard you don't like wizards! Especially after the Magical Restrictions Act of 1792 classified vampires as near-human half-beings. I heard vampires rebelled, and that led to the largest Slayer purge in the past four hundred years!"

Donovan and Raven had been watching Hermione's explanation with amusement. Mosquito was still eyeing Draco with malice, and the spring loaded knife was clicking at his wrist.

"Thanks for the History lesson. Almost three hundred years now," said Quinn. "God, has it been that long? Of course, I was the only one around at that time. Raven hadn't been born yet, and Mosquito had been in hiding for more than a century before that. But you should know better than to listen to those histories, lass. They were written by the winners. Of course they'd say that we're not on their level! They want us to be beneath them. Subordinate. But we're not defined by our…gifts. We're defined by how we use them."

"Rather like werewolves in my opinion," added Lupin.

"Exactly our feelings," said Donovan. "That's why we started calling ourselves The Revenge you know. We were out to show the Ministry and the Slayers that they were wrong about vampires-or, at least, about us. When I was bitten, it didn't change anything except my sleeping schedule. I was a soldier in Her Majesty's Army, and suddenly I'm told that I'm not even human anymore, and that I'm being ordered about by wizards who never knew me, never cared for me before I was turned. Well, no way I was going to let these wand-waving bastards tell me what kind of a person I was. So The Revenge was formed to bring justice to the world that had scorned them. We fight the darkness-our own personal revenge against those who abandoned us."

"And now our fight's led us to your door," said Raven Lafitte. "Our contact, some Limey Jack named Constantine, told us you might be needin' a bit of schoolin' in the ways of armed combat."

"Who says we need training?" said Ron, defensively. "We've fought off You-Know…Voldemort more times now than I can count!" He edged away from Donovan, who was closest. Harry remembered Ron's feelings when he heard Hagrid was a giant, and when he first found out Lupin was a werewolf. Harry could see why members of the Revenge were bitter. Hatred and fear of half-humans was bred into wizard boys and girls from birth. _Sometimes I'm glad I was born a Muggle,_ he thought, trying to send the statement to Hermione. He glanced over, and saw she was smiling, and nodding. His head was suddenly filled with her voice.

_Likewise_.

Donovan hadn't moved since Ron had challenged him. Harry had half-expected him to attack the moment he had been snubbed. But he simply sat, leaning against one of the wooden tables, as immobile as a statue. Finally, he shrugged, looking non-committal.

"I'll give you that," he said. "You've done a fair bit of work before we ever showed up. And you could learn more if you wanted. Much more. But it's your choice, Red. You don't want to learn you don't have to."

Ron looked vaguely relieved.

"I'll even give you a head start."

Then he looked confused.

"If you think you don't need our help, then walk right through that door, and keep going. I'll count to five. Then, if you're not through the door-"

Suddenly he whipped his staff up and caught Ron squarely on the chin. Ron flew straight up, and fell straight down. He hit the ground so hard that Harry felt the floor shake. And before Harry knew it happened, Donovan Quinn was up, and had his staff pressing against Ron's Adam's apple.

"If you don't need out help, then why are you on the floor?" Ron groaned, trying to get up. Donovan pushed him back down.

"Aren't you gonna try and help him?" said Raven. Harry felt every member of the DA tense.

Draco was the first to strike, followed closely by Luna and Neville. All three pulled out their wands, but the Revenge were too fast for them. De La Vega had Draco disarmed before he could shout a curse, and had flicked his knife to Malfoy's pale throat yet again. Luna and Neville were both able to get off Stunning spells. Luna's spell hit the wall where Raven had been moments before, but suddenly found her wand pointed at her own heart. Neville never saw Quinn's staff hit him hard on the back of the head, before returning to Ron's throat again. Finally, Harry decided it was time for him to move. He felt Hermione move with him.

The Revenge moved faster. Harry saw a blur, and knew that Quinn was moving at top speed. _Vampires can move faster than us_, he remembered from an old lesson. He actually believed that it was one of Snape's from last year. _Lot of bloody help that is. Why won't they SLOW DOWN!?_

And as he said it, Harry felt the world slow around him. Or maybe, he was moving faster. He couldn't tell. All he knew was that now he could see Donovan perfectly, and that he was moving at a snail's pace. Harry felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to see Hermione, looking confused, and a little frightened.

"Did you do this?" she asked.

"No!" said Harry, but then he remembered. He had said he wanted them to slow down…

"Well…maybe. Yes, I think I did."

"I felt it," said Hermione. "The link. The Spark between us. I was thinking in my head that we could be able to stop them if they only slowed down a bit…"

"I was thinking the same thing," said Harry. "Just then. I was thinking I could dodge him as he was coming towards us…Oh, speaking of which!" Harry had looked over just in time to see that Quinn's staff had finally nearly reached him. Harry ducked cautiously to the side, and yanked the staff out of his hands. The world came rushing back to meet him as he did so.

Donovan Quinn couldn't stop himself, and the force of his charge still propelled him forward, out of the ring and crashing to the floor. Hermione, thinking quickly, grabbed the staff from Harry and snapped it in half. Harry was surprised to see her leap over the stone barrier, straddle Quinn before he could get up, and stick the pointy end of the stake into his brown coat.

"If you try to get up, Mr. Pointy goes down," she whispered. "Do you yield?"

"Do I…what? How the hell did you get here? You were faster than me. _No one_ is faster than me!"

"Do you _yield_?" she asked again, digging the stake a little deeper. Harry got the feeling she was enjoying being the tough one, and a lot at that. _Bit of a prima donna, aren't you? _He thought. He was surprised again to hear her voice again.

_Jealous, are we?_

"All right, all RIGHT! I yield, Cripes, lady, just ease off the merchandise! I've had this coat since 1947! They don't make them anymore!"

In all the hubbub, the rest of The Revenge seemed to have forgotten about the students they had been sparring with. Mosquito, for all his bluster, ran over to his fallen leader first.

"_Jefe!_" he cried. "Boss, you alright? The boy and girl…I've never seen anyone move so quickly!"

"Me neither," agreed Lafitte, who had completely forgotten that she had Neville in a headlock, and he was now on the verge of suffocation. "Those two move like shit off a shovel."

"How'd you do it?" asked Quinn, his voice still muffled by the floor that Hermione was pressing his face into.

"That," said Lupin, "Is the question we all want answered. And it's why you're here tonight, Donovan."

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"So, just so I get this right: You're a super-wizard. And this just happened last night, due to a near death experience that caused you to realize that you were in love with your best friend, and thus opened up a treasure trove of powers you never knew you had. Including one said power that just allowed you to elude my normally un-eludable self. That about right?"

Harry nodded slowly to Donovan. It had all sounded much cooler in his head.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but in the book of life, you got the dime novel treatment."

"I wasn't asking for your opinion, Q, I was asking for your help," said Lupin. Harry assumed that they had a past; he couldn't imagine what it might be though. Half-breeds usually stuck together in this world. "We're treading on new ground here. We need all the help we can get with Harry being trained, and now we've got this new complication, after last night. Harry needs to hone his powers, and you're one of the best at training fighters. Can you help us?"

"Oh, he can," said Ron, still feeling a tad upset about the sudden attack, "The question is, will he?"

Quinn stood still for a moment. He seemed to be pondering quite a number of details.

"You know how I became a vampire?" he said finally. Draco and Ron both rolled their eyes to the ceiling.

"Got a problem?" asked Quinn.

"Yeah," Draco said with a sneer, "I've got a bit of a problem when gits answer one question with another, and make us sit through story time before answering 'yes' or 'no'."

"Shut your gob, twit, I'm empathizing." Quinn's words were backed up by the clicking coming from Mosquito's knife. _He doesn't let a grudge go_, thought Harry.

"I remember the night I became what I am tonight. November the 2nd, 1775. Nice night, if I remember correctly. Not too cold, not too hot. Just sort of brisk. My lads and I were on our way to catch a ship to take us to the Americas. Apparently," he said, with a glance towards Raven Lafitte, "They were having some colonial difficulties."

"Don't look at me, I wasn't involved til we kicked your ass in 1812."

"Oh, bloody hell, it was a draw and you know it! Anyway. We were on our way to meet the boat, when all of a sudden, we run into a group of ragged old boys. Looked like they'd seen the bottom shaft of every ugly stick in the book. So, naturally, being stout men of the Isles, we tell them to get out of the way. Ireland's finest coming through. Well, next thing I know, they sprout fangs and a bad attitude. I remember that night; because it was the night I died. Should have stayed that way too, but fate? Ah, she had a different plan for me."

Harry listened, but he was beginning to side with Ron and Draco. "Terribly sorry you didn't die when you were supposed to, but when does the point show up?"

"The point, my impatient young friend, is that you should've died last night. Just like me, something saved you. Just like me, it amplified your already formidable talents. And just like me, you had no bloody idea hoe to control it. I saw it in your eyes. I figure that if I were to rush you again, you would have a 50/50 chance of pulling off that little magic trick again. It's running on adrenaline right now; you get scared, and then you react. But how do you know it'll be there when you need it?" He turned to Lupin. "I'll help them out, given a few conditions." Lupin face revealed nothing.

"Such as?"

"One: we'll be need accommodations here in the school. Roomy, but not facing the East, if you follow my meaning."

"Done."

"Two, pints of fresh blood every morning, noon, and night, along with a mug of the cold stuff whenever we feel the need for a nip."

"Non-human, off course."

"Of course. I've been clean for years now. And three, we will of course be requiring our payment. 100 Galleons before the next little group meeting-"

"We agreed on twenty-five per meeting already," said Lupin.

"You neglected to mention Superboy."

"Twenty-five."

"Seventy-Five."

"Thirty."

"Sixty."

"Fifty, and not a Knut more," said Lupin, testily.

"Deal. Oh, and one more thing. When we're in this room, we're the instructors, not you. Got that, teach?"

Lupin stared into Quinn's eyes. Harry knew that the last request was frustrating him more than anything.

"I'll be watching, Quinn. And if I don't like what I see, I'll call this off. And if I really don't like what I see, I'll call it off with a crucifix made of silver and covered in garlic. Do we understand each other?"

"Cheers, gov," said Quinn. "Right then, no use waiting around for the sun to come up! We're on the clock! Raven, get these kids fitted for their new appendages."

"Appendages?" gulped Ron. "I'm sort of okay with the ones I've got right now, actually."

"Don't worry, sweetie," said Raven. "He's just bein' a little melodramatic. I'm picking out your weapons. But hold still. I have to read your aura."

She began to walk up and down the row of DA. At every one, she would stop and close her eyes. Sometimes, her hand was drawn to their head; sometimes, to their hearts. With Draco, she seemed confused for a moment.

"Your aura seems to be coming from below the waistline," she said, somewhat amused.

"You have no idea," commented Draco.

"Bet I don't."

"Alright, Raven, enough with that. Who gets what?"

Raven walked from person to person. Harry felt that this was some strange form of ceremony. She came to Harry.

"I'm getting the hero from him, amazingly enough," she said, with a note of sarcasm. "Strong and bold. He needs a hero's weapon. Give the boy a sword."

"He's already got one," said Lupin. He pulled out a sword from behind his briefcase. The DA's mouths fell open; all except Luna, who looked supremely unsurprised.

"Gryffindor's Sword?" said Harry.

"It chose you in the Chamber of Secrets, Harry," said Lupin solemnly. "You were able to wield it effectively. And also…you weren't told this at the time…but Dumbledore bequeathed it to you. This sword wasn't always in the Headmaster's Room. It came from his private collection. And so you'll be using this for practice here; it will be going back with me after every session, of course."

"Y-yeah," replied Harry. It felt strange seeing the sword again. He went to Lupin, and picked up the long, thin blade. It felt comfortable, balanced in his hand. Almost as if it were meant to be there. Raven moved next to Hermione.

"Athena," she said. "A warrior, but with a mind like the damn Gulf of Mexico. You could fill an ocean with it. Gentle, but her words usually find the target. I think she deserves a bow." Quinn took a bow and a quiver of arrows from the table. Hermione took them, but Harry immediately felt they were too bulky in her hands.

"Don't you have anything smaller?" he said. Raven nodded.

"She needs something more delicate. Give her the crossbow."

She came to Ron.

"Ah, yes, the sacred clown."

"The WHAT?" said Ron furiously.

"Simmer down there, Freckles. You look fit to burst. My Momma was a priestess in the Southern part of Alaska, before some bad math during some Apparating ended her up in the middle of New Orleans." She pronounced it "Nawle-ans."

"Well, she taught me that all of us have some part to play in the world, and usually, that part has been played before. In fact, most of us fall into categories that have been around since they came up with the myths and legends. Harry falls into the hero: King Arthur, or Gawain, who beat the ever lovin' snot outta the Green Knight. Hermione's got the strongest mind since Athena, and Athena carried a bow too. But the Clown's always been important. Anansi the Spider, the Coyote of the American southwest. Hell, my momma was from the Crow tribe around Sitka; the crow was a prankster, but he helped create the world. Look at Hermes…Hmmmm…yeah, Hermes." She looked him up and down.

"Give him a staff." Quinn threw Ron one of the long staffs along the wall. Harry thought it seemed to fit.

"Neville, you've got a heart like the Grand Canyon, but you're as blunt as a pencil. You've got one of the strongest spirits I've ever seen, though. We're going to fit you with a mace."

Quinn gave him a short, thick mace with spikes along four sides of it. Neville swung it around, experimentally. He seemed to enjoy the _whoosh_ it made whenever he swung it around. Harry smiled.

"You ever thought about trying out for Beater?"

"Can I use this instead of one of the bats?" asked Neville.

Raven came to Luna, who held out her hands like a child who was trick or treating.

"I don't think you've got a weapon for me. I don't fit in here," she said. It wasn't said scathingly. It was more as a statement of fact.

"Don't be like that, Luna," said Ron. "You're all right; you belong with us!"

"Thank you, Ronald," said Luna, with the biggest smile Harry had ever seen. Ron's ears tinged a little pink.

"But she's right," said Raven. "She stands out, and I ain't just referrin' to your use of vegetarian fashion statements," pointing to Luna's radish earrings. "You're the dreamer here. Inventive, resourceful, but never held down to just one weapon. I think you're going to need…" She looked around until she saw a belt, resting on one of the shelves in the room.

"Thank God for the Room of Requirement," she said, placing small vials into slots that lined the belt. "a belt full of potions. Should prepare you for any occasion. And hey, if you run out of one potion you need, try combinin' a few. See what might pop up." Luna smiled, and took the belt from Raven. To Harry's surprise, she wrapped it around her body from shoulder to waist, like it was a sash, and she had just won the "Ms. Dangerous Potions" award. _It's safer than keeping it round her waist,_ came Hermione's voice.

"S'pose so," said Harry.

Lastly, Raven came to Malfoy.

"You know, just cause you're a snake don't mean you're bad," she said. "Even Loki had his good points, just so long as you keep your vicious streak in check. But you've got venom in your blood; it was a part of your upbringing. So I think you need a stinger. Mosquito?"

"No!" cried the Spaniard. "You mean I have to work with this _Blanco!_ This…pig-dog ape of a mongrel sheep!? I would sooner-"

"Give him the damn knife doohickey!" said Raven. Harry remembered by the flash in her eyes that though she looked young, she was older, and dangerous. De La Vega seemed to remember as well, for, though he grumbled, he took a copy of his spring loaded knife from off the table, and thrust it into Malfoy's waiting hands.

"Thanks, Needle-Nose," said Draco with a sneer. De La Vega looked ready to kill. But he kept his cool.

"You will be training with me…_perro_. I am your master when you are in here. And when I call for you, I believe I shall call you "Spot."

"You're going to call me…" Draco looked furious. "Harry! Are you going to allow this kind of treatment?"

Harry gave Draco the wickedest smile he could muster.

"Quiet, Spot."

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I'm taking a cue from B.B. Ruth, and not trying to cram too much into one chapter. So they be shorter, but quicker now I think. Hope you all read and review!


	21. Chapter 21: Absolute Power

Huh? Buh? GUH!? What happened?? Why are there cobwebs all over my keyboard? Sorry I took so long. I'll do better next time, everybody!

Chapter 21: Absolute Power

The next few days drifted by, with great spurts of time disappearing, only to melt into interminable classes. Hours became decades, and then sped up until they were only seconds. And these seconds usually came when Harry was in the Room of Requirement with his friends and his teachers; and soon even these two became intermingled. Donovan Quinn was more of a leader than Harry thought he could ever be; a true leader, willing to sacrifice all for his troops. And his troops were willing to follow him to the grave (or rather, to the sunlight). He was tireless in giving advice, making helpful suggestions, and above all, instilling confidence.

Raven Lafitte proved herself wise beyond the youth she resembled, both in tactics and in history (albeit, Hermione was quick to point out, a little America-centric). In one of the many discussions that the group began to have after their practices ­­­­­­­– sitting around the Room of Requirement, drinking celebratory Butterbeer – Harry discovered that Raven's mother, after the Alaskan Apparation debacle, had ended up in Louisiana and liked it so much she decided to stay there. She took the name Marie Laveau, and set up shop as a witch doctor, helping those who came to her when all other doors were closed. One of the men who came seeking her assistance was a young seafarer from New Orleans by the name of Jean Lafitte. He was a handsome man, and the two fell quickly in love (some say with a little 'encouragement' from Marie's supply of love tonics). But soon the young man had become a dashing Captain, and a pirate, one of the greatest to walk the dark streets of the French Quarter. And the Captain had a daughter; a girl he loved fiercely, teaching her all he knew of swords, while his wife trained the daughter in the ways of her homeland; of sorcery and of the spirits of the great Northern lands. Soon Crow and Eagle were her friend, and the invading British in 1812 became her greatest foe. "Of course," Raven enjoyed telling and retelling the group, "it was some little French chap who turned me into the lovely little vampire I am today."

Even Mosquito had redeeming qualities after a week of training. Yes, he was still a complete braggart, and a bit of a dandy, but Harry realized that all of his threats against Quinn were just empty talk, a cover. In truth, Harry would have to say that he was the most dedicated of The Revenge. He took Draco in hand, feigning disgust all the way, but Harry got the feeling that De La Vega was enjoying himself immensely. Malfoy would complain, or insult him, allowing de La Vega to go into a long-winded and piteous tirade about the quality of today's students, their lack of respect for their elders, their ignorance of history, and for the duty they no longer showed to those of noble birth. "The day of the gentleman has passed!" he would moan frequently, whenever Malfoy gave him a retort that was particularly barbed. It became a metronome with which they could follow the course of the knife training going on. Attack, attack, frustrated comment, witty jibe, "The day of the gentleman has passed!" The two were a double act, and their timing was flawless.

And as the Revenge got to know the DA, the DA soon became better acquainted with their own abilities as never before. The Revenge could be friendly, even jovial, but were quick to show their anger if one of their charges were giving any less than their all during training. Ron discovered this during their second lesson.

"Stop!" cried Quinn, who had been showing Ron the proper defense for an upward thrust with his staff. "What are your feet doing right now?!"

"Standing on the ground!" said Ron, sweat pouring from his face. But his reddening ears gave him away. Ron had suddenly remembered that he had been given "homework" last class; he needed to practice his footwork, so they could move on to more important things the next class. Unfortunately, he filed this homework along with all other homework he was given in school, under "Later." Most of the time "Later" became "Straight to the Dustbin."

"That's funny, Ron. It'll be even more funny when a Death Eater trips you up and kills you without even losing his breath!" Quinn swept around, his long coat disorientating Ron, and tripped him again with his long staff. Ron flinched as his head cracked against the ground, and Quinn stood over him.

"Another stupid wizard," he said. "You think you've got magic, so you're bloody untouchable. But magic isn't the only way people fight in the world. Muggles, Muggles like I used to be, live and die every day without magic. They kill each other just as easily with their bare damn hands as with a wand. And a wizard with both a wand and a deadly weapon in his hand has become more than dangerous. He has become an act of God, a thunderbolt from the sky, and the enemy had better watch out. So, when I tell you to practice your footwork, I expect you to do it. Otherwise, I might as well be teaching martial arts to Benny Hill!"

Ron got to his feet, a little wobblier than he was moments before. As Quinn walked away, preparing the training ground again, he pulled Harry close.

"Who the hell is Benny Hill?"

But even more than that, Harry was surprised to see how much his friends had changed, even in the course of a few days. Neville especially had become a shining beacon of what could be achieved through concentration and determination. Whenever he came upon a problem these days, Neville would attack it with a single-minded ferocity; soon, he was becoming quite deadly with his weapon of choice. But still, Harry worried. There were days when the determination in his friend's eye took on a manic glint. There were nights when Harry could almost hear his feet above him in the tower, going through the stances that Donovan had taught him, practicing well into the morning. There were times when Harry's newfound power gave him a glint into Neville's mind; no longer than it would take to remove a speck of sand from his eye, but long enough to see an imagination run amok. Inside his head, Neville was a warrior – a king of men – a throwback to the old days of man, when an enemy was to be destroyed utterly and taught to fear you. He saw Neville, sitting on a throne, and Voldemort's head on a pike on front of him.

Neville stopped swinging his mace, turned to face Harry, and smiled.

The belt full of potions seemed to fit Luna's talents better than Harry could ever have expected. He realized now how much he had always underestimated the girl's power. She had been his friend, yes; quietly and in her own way, one of the most devoted allies he had ever been fortunate enough to meet. But she had other qualities, qualities that could easily be overlooked due to her bizarre personality. For a mind to be that fanciful, it also had to be inventive. And, he thought upon reflection, the Sorting Hat knew what it was doing when she was put into Ravenclaw, because Luna became cleverer every passing day. Raven had quite a bit of experience with potions, thanks in no small part to her mother's tutelage. But Luna would take potions and combine them in ways that were ingenious, and incredibly powerful. Living fire mixed with fluid ice; a vial of potion that could allow the drinker into the dreams of a sleeping friend, and a dangerous concoction that first covered an enemy in water, then shot them through with electricity.

"Shocking, isn't it?" said Quinn, in his best deadpan voice. "Full marks for you, Ms. Lovegood. I always knew you would do great things."

"Why?" said Luna.

"It's in the hair," replied Quinn, twisting one of his own blonde locks lazily with a finger.

Of course, Hermione had surprised Harry most of all. If there was one thing he would never get used to, it was how much there still was to learn about her. And each time he thought that he had discovered all there was to know about some aspect of her life, another piece of the puzzle, a piece he never knew even existed, fell into place. She could be dedicated but caring, disdainful of foolishness during times of work, but able to captivate the entire assembled crowd with a story. And, Harry discovered, she could be deadly, both in word and in deed. Once, only once, did Mosquito make a disparaging remark about Hermione's aim with her miniature crossbow. She had been distracted by a sudden explosion from Luna's potion-making table, and her arrow flew into the training dummy's shoulder. De La Vega gave a disdainful snort.

"Perchance the girl needs a less dangerous weapon, Raven," he called from across the room. "I could supply her with a _shield_ if the girl so requires…" His words were cut short by the quick, successive thuds of three arrows finding their mark on the dummy: One between the eyes, one through the heart, and one through the crotch. Hermione cocked back her crossbow once more and fired a final bolt across the room, where it landed in the wall next to Mosquito's ear.

"The day of the gentle woman has passed as well, Mosquito," said Hermione.

With all of the change happening around him, Harry found his thoughts traveling inward, as they so often did. Whenever anything or anyone around him changed, for better or for worse, Harry inevitably began to compare himself to them. And now, looking at his friends becoming warriors, seeing Hermione grow stronger, more sure of herself, he began to wonder about his own talents and abilities. The practice sessions would last long into the night, but still Harry felt a twinge of fear that he was being left far behind. During one particular moment of concern, Harry felt a shiver run up his spine, and saw that Hermione had turned to face him. She wore an expression of concern, mingled with disbelief. Hermione walked over to Quinn, who eyed Harry with the same disbelief.

"Alright, Scoobies!" Quinn called, waving the group toward him, "That'll be it for tonight. Good work, all of you. Now get some rest! Tomorrow, you've got to start training the rest of the DA."

The group groaned together as one (except for Luna, who looked ready to cheer) and began to pack up their belongings.

"Harry, you stay a second. Help an old man close down for the night."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Old man?"

"I'm older than I look!"

Harry heard the door slam behind them, and knew from the silence that they were alone in the Room of Requirement.

"Take a seat, Harry."

Harry sat.

"Hermione caught a mental whiff from you during the end of practice there. Some rubbish about you not feeling up to the task?"

Harry bristled at being tattled on. "Then maybe Hermione should have talked to me herself."

"Reckon she would have," said Quinn. "Matter of fact, reckon she has. Matter of absolute fact, I bet she needed a break from smacking the back of your head whenever you get the heebie-jeebies that you're not measuring up. Her hand's bloody _raw_, mate." Quinn sighed, looking frustrated.

"Never met the like of you, son. You crawl into this world, and within a year, you've taken down a Dark Lord. You've done it more times now than I can count on one hand, _plus_ you're the head of a clandestine group of warrior students, _PLUS_ you've got some kind of mystical mumbo-jumbo connection with Hermione that makes you more dangerous than a dose of the plague. And still you can't go a night without being wracked by self-doubt. Pardon me for saying, but isn't it possible you might just need some cookies and a bedtime story?"

"Some…what?" This wasn't where Harry thought the conversation was headed.

"You know," continued Quinn, "Need to get into your jammies, get tucked in all nice and cozy? I can get someone to fetch you a warm milk!" Harry wasn't finding this all as amusing as Quinn was.

"Look, I don't know what you're trying to do here, but…"

"You're acting like a bloody baby here, Harry! You've been handed the greatest power ever handed to a human being, and you're still simpering back and forth about whether or not you're a good leader? If that's true, then you might as well go right off to bed, because you are _five bloody years old!_"

"Just because I have this new…ability doesn't mean I'm a good leader!" said Harry, his temper flaring. The candles flickered in their holders.

"Nope, sure doesn't! What does that is your experience, your courage, your heart, and your willingness to sack up when the going gets tough!"

"Sack up?" said Harry.

"Yup. You could be an amazing leader, one of the greats. You just need to get out of your head, and do it."

"But…what if I can't?" said Harry. "What if we all come in here tomorrow, and no one listens, even if I'm shouting at the top of my voice?"

"A real leader doesn't have to shout, Harry. A leader whispers, and the world stops to listen. A real leader will start, and his friends will follow. Now I know you've done this before. You just need to do it now. You're their leader, whether you think you can or not, you are. So, tomorrow, you'd better make sure you're acting like one." Quinn picked up the Gryffindor sword and tossed it to Harry.

"Lesson's over, now bugger off."

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_Just concentrate._

Harry breathed in deeply, letting the rest of the world disappear around him. One of the many books on the Common Room's shelf had taught relaxation methods, ways to clear the mind. The methods always reminded him of the steaming days spent in Professor Trelawney's fire-lit tower, trying to clear his mind before discerning the shrunken and shriveled messages of tea-leaves. His mind did just as good a job applying the ideas in the Common Room.

_You're not concentrating._

Harry rolled his eyes so Hermione could see him do it. She had her hand in his, straining to keep their link, mustering all her mental might (which, Harry conceded, was quite substantial) to keep Harry on task. Harry appreciated this, but sometimes he couldn't help it. Hermione's mind had doors; doors that could be shut tight, compartmentalized. Harry's mind was more like a gladiatorial arena, where ideas battled each other for supremacy, and occasionally one victorious conclusion slaughtered all the competition.

_Harry, you're dropping him!_

His head jerked up in time to see the mound of fur that was Crookshanks topple to the ground with an unceremonious _THUMP._ He felt Hermione's hand jerk out of his.

_Well,_ he said, _Thank goodness they land on their feet._

Crookshanks decided that this would be the opportune moment to leave Harry and Hermione to their own devices, hissing his displeasure at Harry on the way out the door. Harry hoped that Hermione's temper was not as…feline.

"Sorry about your cat," he said, preempting any scolding that may have been on its way. "I can only stay focused for so long before I lose control. Of course, that's the way it'll be out there, too. There are too many Death Eaters, and they won't all wait their turn for me to use these powers against them."

Hermione came behind him, laid her head on his shoulder, and wrapped her arms around his waist. Her touch calmed him, as it always did.

"Maybe there's a book to help you; one we haven't found yet…"

"I'm not sure there's a book in existence that you haven't found yet," said Harry, holding his hands against hers. The lights glowed stronger. "And besides, a book can't tell me how to control my powers, or how to be a good leader, or how to keep everyone safe." He squeezed her hands, and felt a tingle, a rush of happiness. The fire in the Common Room burst merrily into flame.

"Hold that feeling," said Hermione. "Concentrate. Concentrate on the fire." She was whispering in his ear, softly, calmly, reassuring him. Harry nodded, and concentrated on keeping the fire lit. His magic had done it, he controlled the magic, therefore the fire would be alive as long as he wished. He pushed the thought in his mind, thinking of nothing but the fire. Harry felt his hands trembling as his fervent concentration fought to keep the fire alive.

"I can keep the fire going," said Harry. "I'm in control…" He gritted his teeth, straining to fight and keep the magic flowing. He didn't know what this power was; he just knew that it was an asset, and he had to keep it, and control it, and make sure that no one else but he was hurt by it.

"Don't worry about the rest of us," whispered Hermione. She had removed her hands from his, and was gently stringing her fingers up and down his arms. Shock of electric blue lights trailed down from his shoulders to his hands. Harry felt her power join his. "Don't worry about us; don't worry about anything. Don't fight the magic. The magic doesn't want you to control it. It wants to help you. Let it help you, Harry. Let us help you."

Harry released the tension in his hands, and felt the power surge through his body. Hermione gasped as she felt the power increase as well. She felt him let go. Harry let the fire drift lazily through his thoughts, while paying more attention to Hermione. With the light graze of her fingertips, he felt the power surge again. Hermione moaned softly.

"Does it hurt you?" he asked quietly.

"No…" said Hermione breathlessly. "Oh, God no. It's…it's amazing."

The fire dropped from his mind. All he knew was that he was somehow making Hermione feel happiness, joy…pleasure… through this magic. He concentrated on her fingers. He felt them through his shirt sleeves, jolting him with bolts of pleasure. He focused on the way they made him feel, as they traveled down his hands, then rebounded up his arms, into his chest, and up and down his body until his brain was infused with the magical fire. Harry spun on the spot, grabbing Hermione**, **pulling her body tight against him, letting the waves of pleasure rebound between the two of them. His mind was panicking. Random flashes of passion blinked in front of him, like someone had made a movie of the romantic possibilities between he and Hermione, then set them in front of a strobe light. Mentally, inside his head, he felt her touch, her skin. He kissed the moisture off her lips, saw her gasping for breath as waves of pleasure rocked them both until they were trembling from the release. He tasted the sweat on her body, and grasped at the sweat-drenched curls of her hair as he felt Hermione's nails digging into his back, and smelled her sweet scent, felt her hot breath on his ear as she whispered his name, then moaned it, then screamed it. The power…the passion. He felt it envelop them both.

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The fire was burning brightly when Hermione came back to herself. Harry had backed them to the wall, and they were slumped against the door to her room, fully clothed and soaked in sweat. Harry's glasses were askew, his hair even more wildly unkempt than usual. The magic that they shared had caused the room to go ballistic, though. There were books littering the floor; all the furniture was still spinning lazily in the air, turning in happy pirouettes. Crookshanks floated near the chandelier, unhappy but seemingly resigned to his fate as the world's first airborne feline. Harry stirred against her shoulder, groaning slightly as he shook his hair away from his bleary eyes.

"I should train with you more often," said Hermione. Harry started, doing a quick check of all his clothes, to make sure they were where they were supposed to be. Apparently, thought Hermione, he was not so quick to catch on to the difference between what had just happened in the room and in their minds. After a moment, the waking panic drifted from Harry's eyes.

"Hermione…did we…I mean." He paused, trying to come up with the proper terminology. "You know," he continued, apparently giving up on trying to name what just happened, "Did we just…_have sex!?_" His last two words were whispered, with eyebrows raised so high as to cause them to disappear into his hairline. Hermione waggled her fingers near the sides of her face, and put on a decidedly Professor Trelawney-ish voice.

"Miiiiiind Seeeeex, Mr. Potter, Mind Sex. A most uncommon side-effect of combining incredible god-like powers, stress, and two people in need of a good long snog."

"I did rather need a snog. I just had trouble figuring out where the snogging stopped and the…" Harry imitated Hermione's finger-waggle, "You know, where _that_ began."

"Don't worry. You didn't do anything to sully my virtue." Harry looked relieved. She felt his arms curl around her shoulders as Crookshanks did another victory lap around the room...two feet above the floor.

"And was I your first?" Harry asked tentatively. Hermione had the feeling he didn't want to know the answer, a thought validated by the flashes of Viktor Krum appearing in his subconscious.

"Judging by the fact that this situation is virtually unheard of, I'd say the chances are good that you were my first mind-shag."

"No, I mean-"

"I know what you meant," laughed Hermione. "And yes," she whispered with her mouth tickling the corner of his ear, "You were my first."

Harry closed his eyes lazily. "You were my first too."

"You're kidding. Never expected that…"

"Shut up, you're ruining the moment."

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The euphoria of that night lasted all the way into the Room of Requirement the next night. Harry had expected that things couldn't possibly go wrong, not after all the speeches, not after last night, not with Ron, Hermione, and even Draco there with him, to help him.

But as he so often found, the best laid plans of men and wizards so often go astray. And as things so often did, things went astray due to Zacharias Smith. Harry had hoped that tonight would be a proper send-off to all his students before the Christmas Vacation (even though most would be staying in the safety of the castle, Hermione felt that it was important to give their charges some time off) and Harry had prepared appropriately. Each student had been given a small gift, a token of regard from their teachers in the DA, thoughtfully donated by Fred and George; but to get their gifts, everyone had to earn them. Harry and the rest of the DA had been pleased with the results: all of their students had performed admirably, and were now enjoying the fruits of their labors. Seamus was playing a low tune on an ocarina that was changing his hair color depending on the speed of the song. Right now it was electric blue and pulsing. Even Blaise Zabini had gotten a small rubber ball that seemed to be drawn magnetically to his hand, even if he were to toss it across the room. Which was just what he did. One particularly forceful throw had taken the ball on a few loops of the room, and right onto the waiting skull of Zacharias, who was looking sulky. Harry had been telling him to practice for ages, but nothing seemed to penetrate. Smith would just say over and over that he had _tried_ to learn, but every time he said this, Harry caught mental glimpses of him lying on his bed, reading dirty magazines. Harry was becoming frustrated when, after Zacharias's third unsuccessful attempt to disarm him, he heard Hermione's voice in his head.

_Stay calm, we're all here._

Harry turned to look at her, and in that brief moment of distraction, he heard the ball make contact with the back of Smith's head.

"WHOSE BALL!?" he heard him shout. "WHO HIT ME!?"

The DA went quiet; there was no need to answer. The ball traveled back to Zabini's hand.

"Oh, sorry!" Blaise said, stifling a laugh. "Didn't mean to. Guess the little guy has stamina." Zacharias was finding the whole situation less funny.

"Hand… the ball…over."

Blaise's smile vanished. A few third years took a hesitant step back.

"Look, I said I was sorry. Now you'd best get your nose out of my face before I lose my Christmas cheer." Harry was quietly walking towards the fracas; he could still hear Hermione in his mind. _Stay…calm. You're the leader._

"Hand it over!' said Smith, sounding like a petulant child. He took a small but deliberate step toward Blaise.

_Caaaaaaaalm._

Seamus, his hair now a mossy shade of green overlayed with orange, stepped between them. "No need for theatrics, boys. It was just an accident." Harry took the moment to admire his fellow Gryffindor sticking up for Zabini. A month ago, Seamus would have watched it all happen, and let the chips (and Zabini) fall as they may. Smith, however, was having none of it.

"Keep out of this you Irish prick!"

The crowd gasped as a collective. Nothing good ever came of insulting Seamus Finnegan's Irish heritage. Hermione voice still echoed in Harry's ear. _Don't let the anger…_

_Hermione, please, be quiet…_

Seamus, to his credit, didn't beat the living pulp out of Zacharias, but a flash of anger burned across his usually friendly features. Dean Thomas, who was standing close by, put a hand on Seamus's shoulder, holding him back. Seamus sneered, looking down at Smith, who stood a good head shorter than him.

"What," he said, never taking his eyes off Smith, "You think I'm gonna do something?" He glanced quickly at his best mate, "Nah, this one's not worth it." He turned away. Harry felt the urge to severely injure Zacharias._ Don't do it! _Cried Hermione.

_Hermione, PLEASE!_

Seamus couldn't resist, apparently, getting one parting shot in. He called derisively over his shoulder as he walked away, "_Irish Prick. _Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, Smith?"

Smith seemed ready, prepared with his retort. "No, and I can't kiss yours either."

What little restraint Seamus had left was now gone. Smith had brought up his mother. Harry saw flashes of her dead body, the Dark Mark, her funeral. His anger swelled inside him like a balloon. Until, with that, it burst.

_DON'T, Harry!_

_Shut up, Hermione!_

The crowd had exploded around them. Draco was trying to keep Seamus, Dean, and half a dozen other students from attacking; Zabini was actually holding Ron back. Everywhere was noise and confusion. With all the shouting, scraping, and general anger, no one noticed the candles on the wall begin to burn brighter. No one saw the wax melt, until there was nothing but pillars of flame. Only Hermione saw it, and pressed even harder into Harry's subconscious, trying to send calming messages to Harry. But Smith's words, Harry knew, had been meant for him as well. Smith knew they would hurt him, and now, Smith was going to get his wish. If he wanted Harry, he could have him. Harry felt the anger mixing with the magic inside him, pulsing like a drumbeat. A vein was throbbing on the side of his head. He had nearly reached the center of the students when he found Luna blocking his path.

"I get it," she said dreamily-

_Harry! NO!_

"Because he doesn't _have_ a mother…"

The shouting…

_HARRY!_

"Because she's DEAD!" Luna concluded, triumphantly.

_HARRY, PLEASE!_

"_LUNA, SHUT UP!"_

The candles burnt out, and the crowd went silent as the room was plunged into sudden darkness. No one moved, not even Zacharias Smith. Then from the corner:

"What we really need now are candles!" came Hermione's voice.

The room responded beautifully, and the DA were suddenly bathed in the glow of hundreds of floating candles.

"Harry?" called Hermione.

"LUNA!" cried Ron.

"Smith," hissed Draco, and backhanded the offending Hufflepuff. Zacharias Smith fell to the ground, his nose spurting blood. But Hermione and Ron hadn't noticed. They were bending over their friends.

Harry's eyes were wide open, but unseeing; unfocused. Hermione shook his shoulder, but nothing happened. She tried to call to him mentally, but got no response. She put her ear to Harry's mouth, and was greeted by the faintest whisper of a breath.

"Harry, love, talk to me! Say something!" But there was no response. Harry was absolutely still.

Next to her, Ron was having no better luck trying to get Luna to talk. She was awake, Ron knew that much.

"Luna! Luna! Oh, bollocks! What've we done? Look, Luna, can you tell me what day it is?" Luna opened her mouth, but nothing happened. She smiled, then shrugged.

Ron raised four of his fingers. "Can you see how fingers I'm holding up?" Luna merely nodded, her eyes still wide. For all the world, she looked more confused than frightened. Ron looked frightened enough for the both of them.

"What's that Snacklebolt you were telling us about earlier? What's it look like, Luna? Luna?" asked Ron, a hint of desperation now creeping into his voice. Luna opened her mouth again, shrugged, then pointed at her throat.

Silence filled the Room of Requirement.

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I've begun the next chapter! It will be FINISHED!!


	22. Chapter 22: Conclave

Chapter 22: Conclave

Ron, Hermione, and Draco sat in silence, listening to the soft, metallic _drip, drip, drip_ coming from the leaking faucet at the far end of the Hospital Wing.

"Faucet's leaking," said Ron, breaking the silence.

"Always leaks," Draco added, dully.

"Think it was built leaking." Draco nodded. Once; down, up. No more.

Hermione said nothing. She'd been here a hundred times, she felt. Perhaps more. When you lead a life of adventure in the wizarding world, some things defied hyperbole. She had really, truly, without a doubt, hand to Merlin, been here at least a hundred times. _Guess it's a hundred plus one now._

The trio were slouched in the visitor's chairs, chairs that had been in service so long that the indents of thousands of butts were molded into the seat cover. It seemed to be their natural state to cause people to slide down into a slouch. Hermione wondered if they were enchanted to do so, or just improperly built.

"Dark tonight," said Ron, valiantly attempting to converse.

"Dark most nights," added Draco. Ron opened his mouth, thought better of whatever he was going to say, and closed it again.

Harry was propped up on pillows, not moving, not speaking. He hadn't spoken since the Room of Requirement. Everyone had been so focused on Luna that they didn't notice Harry keeling over, and his head hitting the floor with an unhealthy _thunk_. It wasn't until Hermione realized that there was no voice inside her head that anyone knew there was something wrong. She rushed to his side, but there was nothing. His face was blank,blank; it looked like it had been cut into marble. His breath was low, shallow, just whatever was needed to keep alive. And his eyes…

Harry's eyes were still open, the same shade of piercing green Hermione had always encountered. But instead of shining or flashing with anger, the eyes were dull, like a jewel that had gone murky in a coal mine. They hadn't moved for the past hour. They hadn't even blinked.

"I think we should go beat up Smith again," sighed Draco.

"How's that?" Asked Ron, intrigued.

"Reckon it's his fault, whatever this is."

"Well, let me tell you, if he wants to have another go at me, I'll be ready to take him down," said Ron cracking his knuckles with vigor.

"S'pose you would," replied Draco noncommittally. "You'd pick a fight with an empty room."

"Only if the room deserved it."

The door swung open, revealing James Barrie, wearing a sweater, a pair of rumpled scrubs, and a haggard expression. He shot a glance at Hermione, Ron, and Draco sitting bedside. Then, without even breaking his stride, he spun on his heel and headed for the exit.

"Barrie, wait!"

Barrie stopped at the door. He had been planning on stopping. _Honestly_, he told himself.

"You know, before I met you lot, there were nights when I actually slept. Even woke up once _after_ the sun had risen." He sighed, running his fingers through the tangles of his curly mop. "Well, who are our patients?"

"It's Harry," said Hermione, which was enough to make Barrie start for the door again, "And Luna."

"Lemme guess…" said Barrie. "Scraped knee? Bit of a cough? Both of them feeling a tad off color this morning?"

"Magical coma and apparently Harry stole her voice," said Draco, grabbing the back of Barrie's sweater as he tried to make for the door again.

"Magical coma? And her voice…is gone? You mean _gone _gone? Not just 'I've been singing too many showtunes at the pub and I've lost it for a day gone', but _gone_!?"

"Gone gone gone gone," Ron confirmed. Luna smiled from her hospital bed and gave Barrie a small shrug, as if to say _What can you do? Things like this happen if you spend your time in Hogwarts with a Mage. But don't worry, it all works itself out for the best in the end_.

Luna's shrugs were very expressive.

Barrie heaved a sigh, and bent over Luna, checking her pulse with his wand, shining a light down her throat, and making other various preliminary examinations. After a few minutes, Ron reached the threshold of his (limited) patience.

"What do you think, Doc?"

Barrie didn't turn from shining his wand against Luna's throat. "You mean what do I think other than the fact that you'll need a new doctor because I bloody quit?"

Hermione was reaching her limit too, albeit in a shorter time period than Ron.

"Barrie, please."

Barrie leaned against the nearest open bed. The Hospital Wing was strangely empty that evening.

"This is completely uncharted territory. Harry's power is off the charts; I've never seen anything like it, and I've seen a lot in my day. Luna's voice box looks normal; no discoloration of her throat. So far as I can tell, she's absolutely healthy. It's like her voice up and ran away, and I'm not sure if we can get it back without Harry's help if he's the one who made it pack up and leave."

"And what about Harry?" asked Draco.

"Your guess is as good as mine," said Barrie.

"No, it's not."

Ron's eyes suddenly bulged in his head. "But Hermione's guess is better than all of ours! She's got that magic radio mind-reader thing with Harry!"

Hermione shook her head, sadly. "He's not sending anything out."

"Well, if he's not talking to you, I seriously doubt he'll talk to me," said Barrie. He shined his wand into Harry's eyes. The pupils didn't contract. His pulse was almost nonexistent.

"It's like he's barricaded himself in. Locked himself inside his own mind."

"Conclaved," said Hermione.

"Can't you try to wake him up?" asked Ron. Barrie was pouring himself a cup of strong tea from a kettle in the corner. He looked unconvinced.

"How, exactly? Shake him? Smelling salts? Slap him around for a minute? He's a _mage_, Ron. Nothing like has been seen outside the storybooks. And, he's a hormonal pistol with a tendency to get cranky and make voices disappear when provoked. Do _you_ wanna try and wake him up?"

Ron shrugged sheepishly.

"There must be something we can do," said Draco.

"I tried leaving, but you lot won't let me."

"Something productive," added Hermione.

"Maybe there's a potion that could wake him up, once we've all safely left the room," said Ron, but even he sounded unconvinced. Luna heard this, however, and began to make frantic waving motions.

"What? Does it hurt?" said Ron, who was up out his seat and over to Luna in a flash. Luna smiled and rolled her eyes. _Not that, Ronald! _Her eyes commented. She pointed at Harry, and folded her hands under her cheek. She then closed her eyes, breathing in an exaggeratedly loud manner.

"Asleep?" said Ron. "Yeah, we know he's asleep."

Luna shook her head. She pointed at Harry, then cupped her hand, placed it to her mouth, and drank the air.

"You need some water? What?" asked Ron. "Oh, bollocks, I'm miserable at charades!"

Luna heaved a tremendous sigh. Even that was silent. She drank the air again, pointed at herself, and performed a well-executed mimed dive.

"You have a potion…" said Hermione. Nod.

"One that would wake him up?" asked Draco. Shake. She laid her hands under her head again.

"A sleeping potion?" asked Ron. Luna was ecstatic. She nodded vigorously, pointing at her belt of potions. They had taken it off her when they got to the Hospital Wing. Ron walked over to the belt, and pulled each one out of its sleeve. Every bottle had a small label on it, with names written in Luna's delicate handwriting.

"Let's see here, we have Electric Water…no? How about Walking Fire? No, but it sounds fun though…Love Potion…You shouldn't be messing with those Luna, and honestly, not like you _need_ them…" He blushed, and fumbled for the next bottle.

"Sleep Walker." Luna clapped and beckoned Ron to the side of the bed. Then she pointed to Hermione, and motioned her to come over as well. She pointed at the bottle, made the drink motion, pointed at Harry, and made the diving motion.

"You can jump into Harry's dreams?" said Hermione. Luna shook her head and pointed squarely at Hermione.

"Not Luna," said Draco, cottoning to what Luna was trying to get across. "But you could, Hermione. You've got the mind-meld thing. You've got the best connection to him. My guess is you would have the greatest possibility of success." Luna nodded vigorously.

Barrie was less than convinced. "Oi, all of you, this potion is experimental. Luna showed me her recipe a few weeks back, and I can assure you it's never been tried before!"

"But it'll work, right?" asked Hermione.

"In theory, it'll let you inside a sleeping person's dream. Like a pensieve, but a bit more interactive."

"Then I could find what's going on inside his head, and try to fix it?"

"Yes, again, in theory. The theory being it can be fixed, and that he wants you to fix whatever's wrong. But look! Harry's eyes are open! He may not even _be _asleep. You could dive right in and never come out! And what's more, you might go in there looking to help, but if his brain fights back, it would be monstrous more harm than good! I'm speaking of massive brain damage! And the last thing you'd want to do is damage the brain of someone with this much power." Barrie was apologetic. "I'm not saying the idea doesn't have merit. But I'm a doctor. It's my duty to let you know the risks. This is new territory, and the risks aren't just possible, they're incalculable!"

There was a moment of silence as everyone in the room pondered this. Draco broke the tension.

"So…mind-diving in to the most powerful, dangerous brain the wizarding world has ever known? What the hell are we waiting for?"

Ron grinned. "Sure! In a couple of years, we'll probably be too smart to be this bloody stupid. But it's not our call." He looked at Hermione.

"Yes?" Said Hermione, looking down at Luna. Luna stared back, unblinking. Then, she gave the slightest of nods.

"Up to you, lass," said Barrie.

Hermione considered. She'd never liked taking risks, except for when the moment called for risk and it couldn't be avoided. In her heart, she knew this was one of those times. Her eyes moved to Harry. _ You're in there somewhere_, she thought. _And I'll get you out. I promise._

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Hermione lay on the bed next to Harry, trying to get as comfortable as she could. _No need to worry_, she thought. _If anything goes wrong, you'll likely be the last to know._

Barrie was hot on the trail of anything that might go wrong. He had given Hermione an alertness draught, along with several different protection amulets he kept with him "Just in case." Now he was pacing back and forth, trying to avoid Ron, who was also pacing back and forth, although in smaller revolutions, directly in front of Hermione's bed. Draco stayed where he had been, slouched in his chair, but his usually cavalier demeanor had taken a hit.

"And how will you know your way around Harry's brain?" asked Draco.

"No idea," replied Hermione.

"How will you know when you've found Harry?"

"No idea."

"How will you know if you accidentally destroy the nerve center of the essence of what makes Harry Harry?"

"…I'm assuming there'll be a sign."

"A sign?"

"Yeah, a nice one." Hermione had nearly blocked all these doubts from her mind; she would appreciate it if Draco would stop bringing them back up. Ron put his hand on her shoulder. She sat up, taking his hand.

"Sure you wouldn't like some company in there?" Ron asked. "Reckon it gets a mite lonely inside someone else's subconscious." He was trying to sound brave. His face gave him away.

"I'm relying on you to get me out of here," Hermione told him. "You're the person I want to see when I wake up. No matter what, when I see you, I'll know I've made it back."

"Just offering."

"Thanks."

Barrie had the bottle marked SLEEP WALKER in his hand; he absent-mindedly spun it as he paced, muttering quietly to himself. Hermione distinctly heard the word "Untested" several times.

"Well?" Said Hermione. "Let's get started." She sounded much braver than she felt.

Barrie opened Harry's mouth, and trickled a drop of the potion down his throat. All eyes were on Hermione now. Ron looked as if he were on the verge of drastic action to stop her from moving forward with this. She moved to cut him off.

"Remember, Ron. I wake up, and you're in the chair next to me. We clear?"

Ron nodded, determined. Hermione took the bottle from Barrie's outstretched hands, and took a long drink. She saw the lights around her flicker, and one by one go out. The world was becoming darker and darker. The last thing Hermione heard before she closed her eyes was Ron.

"I'll be right here for you. Waiting, no matter how long it takes…"

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There is a curious feeling, the feeling of knowing when you are in a dream. It happens only briefly, and is usually followed immediately by a rude awakening. You get a cut on your arm, or you realize that you've been breathing under water for the past two days. Suddenly, you are fully aware, and yet you feel nothing, smell nothing, and taste nothing.

This was how the world appeared to Hermione Granger.

The black around Hermione when she gained consciousness was so thick it was nearly tangible, and she wondered if Barrie was right, if she had failed. Then, from around her, she was able to hear voices. They were muffled at first, like an old record heard from another room, but soon, one became more distinct.

"You don't belong here, Hermione. It's not safe for you here."

Hermione gasped in fear. The voice she heard was one every boy and girl in the wiazarding world had been taught to fear; one she had feared since the first time she heard his name. The voice came from right behind her. She knew what she would see when she turned.

And she was nearly right. When she did turn (knowing there was no other choice; her legs seemed to have decided not to work…if she had legs here) she found herself eye to eye with Lord Voldemort. But there was something wrong. He didn't look evil, at least not his face. It looked like Voldemort, but there was a tinge of worry to his eyes.

_His eyes._

His eyes were bright green. Hermione saw he also had a scar, etched into his forehead. A lightning bolt. Her mind battled between analytical and terrified.

"Why…are you here? Why are you in Harry's mind?"

"Why shouldn't I be?" answered Voldemort, haughtily. "I _am_ Harry." Hermione looked nonplussed. Voldemort raised his long, pointed hands into the air.

"We are all Harry."

The lights went on in the room, and Hermione suddenly realized that they were in the Great Hall. But it was all wrong. The room was now cavernous, like a cathedral. The room looked as if someone had taken the old Great Hall and stretched it. The sand inside all of the hourglasses were traveling upward, except for the Gryffindor tube, which was broken, with emeralds spilling onto the floor. All the tables were gone, and replaced with a long row of statues. They were far away, and Hermione couldn't see who they were. She turned to Voldemort…Harry. It was Harry.

"But why would you of all people be here? Why would Harry have Lord Voldemort in his head?"

"Because of you."

Hermione looked disbelieving, but Voldemort took her hand, and began to lead her down the Hall.

"I have actually read a number of the books in our Common Room. And one thing I read was that we establish our identity in relation to others. The men and women around us shape our ideals…"-Sirius suddenly appeared out of thin air- "our fears,"- Voldemort pointed at himself- "and our desires"- and HermoineHermione felt, or thought she felt, his clammy hand squeeze her tighter.

"Voldemort shaped my fears, more than anyone else. My fears, and my hatred, because we don't merely fear our enemy; we fear _becoming_ our enemy. I've been afraid of turning into Voldemort for a long time, so my fears took on his shape."

"You…are Harry's fear?"

"I am. And I was right to fear. What happened to Luna…I should have left much earlier. But I thought I had my dark side…my _Voldemort_ safely hidden away. Locked with a key. But now it is I that am locked away, where it is safe. At least until I can learn to control this power."

"And how long will that be?" asked Hermione. Voldemort sniffed, looking disinterested.

"As long as is necessary."

The statues grew closer. They were made of a dark, smooth stone; onyx, thought Hermione. And, she saw, there were more pedestals than statues. The first statue was of a tall, long-haired man, in the garb of a prisoner. His hand was reaching down to pet the massive dog by his side. Hermione read the plaque on the pedestal's front: SIRIUS BLACK. Next came a man in long, flowing robes and a beard that reached all the way down to his belt. ALBUS DUMBLEDORE. And so it went, down the line. Statues of Cedric Diggory, leaning on his broomstick; of Lily and James, wands out, protecting a crib. Among the statues already shaped, Hermione saw huge blocks of stone, ready for cutting. There was an entire section for the Weasely family, and standing alone at the end of a row of statues, Hermione saw a block of stone with her name attached to it. There was even a statue of Ginny. But Hermione knew she hadn't looked like this. She looked so young; so scared. Hermione remembered her face at the wedding right before she died. She was fierce. Her face was a frenzied mask, contorted in the joyful release of battle. But the girl in the statue wasn't like that at all. _Is this how Harry saw her?_

"She is as she was in our mind, one to be protected. We could not protect her, and now, all we can do is mourn her."

"It must have been horrible for you when she died."

"It still is," replied Voldemort. "But we are not the sort to let things out. Our secrets lie deep, and the most precious are locked away, so far away that not even you could hope to see how we feel." He touched Ginny's statue with his long, skeletal fingers. For a flash, Hermione saw Harry's hand. But only a flash, and then it was gone again. "When you are in here, though, nothing is hidden."

"It can be the same out of your mind as well, Harry."

Voldemort shook his head, sadly. "I'm afraid. Too many dangers await other people out there. I can't allow myself to hurt them. There is only here."

The sorrow, the utter self-pity in his voice tore at Hermione's heart, but also strengthened her resolve. "This isn't you!" she said. "This isn't Harry! Where is Harry? I want to see him!"

"We are all Harr-"

"The REAL Harry!"

Voldemort sighed.

"Follow me."

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Hermione's image of her mind had always been similar to the way her room was at home; neat and tidy, with all of the books in their place. It would be well organized, in alphabetical order, quite possibly with a decimal system or two involved. Harry's mind (or at least, the visual representation Hermione saw) was the exact opposite. His mind, she decided, was in need of a thorough cleaning. The memories of past events flooded out onto the floor, causing massive piles of paper and photos to mash together. School recitations and spells were stacked precipitously close to the memories of past events, requiring only the slightest push or gust of wind to fall atop one another and become garbled. Great tumbleweeds blew by, catching smaller memories and daydreams up and mixing them all together. Occasionally, Hermione saw glimpses of Harry's other emotions, all with their own location. Voldemort led her through the Great Hall, and through a door that led to the Quidditch Field. There, Ron flew up and down the field, singing silly songs to a crowd of cheering, faceless men and women. Dumbledore's office was pristine, and full of Harry's most valuable memories. The Sorcerer's Stone lay on the mantle, flanked on either side by Gryffindor's Sword and a Golden Snitch with Hermione's name on it. Every photo had a different person in it, though these pictures also visited with each other (as memories often do). Hermione saw several pictures of herself through the ages, and many of Ron as well. Each person she saw in Harry's mind had the same lightning bolt scar, and the same sharp green eyes.

At the end of a long, narrow corridor full of the refuse of forgotten facts, Voldemort held a door open for Hermione, and beckoned her outside. At first, Hermione thought she had stepped into a fogbank. But as she stepped out into…whatever it was, she felt, well, nothing. She saw and heard nothing. This was not a fog; not a physical construction of Harry's brain. This was the absence of thought.

"We only use ten percent of our brain," came a voice from behind her. Voldemort grabbed her hand; she felt no physical touch, but shuddered nonetheless at his "touch".

"The rest is this; a deep haze of nothing, waiting patiently, hopelessly, to be filled. Our recent…developments have opened the gateways that normally keep this area sealed shut, giving us room to grow."

A light cut through the fog, illuminating the path ahead of them. Hermione realized with a shock that she was standing on water, walking as easily as if she were on solid ground. She took another tentative step. The still glass of the pond broke into dozens of tiny ripples, expanding outwards.

"A boat will get us to our destination faster," said Voldemort. He closed his eyes, and a small skiff appeared underneath their feet. As she watched, the boat grew a tall mast, with the flag of a dragon at the very top.

"Where are we going?" she asked Voldemort, who had taken hold of the ship's till.

"You spoke of a land of heroes to Neville, the night his parents died. You said that your boat would travel through the mist, to a land of apples and green grass, where those who had given their final sacrifice could rest in peace for all eternity. We took it to heart."

"You've hidden Harry on Avalon."

"Our idea of it. We didn't know what to do with the apple trees. Should they be in an orchard, or growing freely?"

Hermione had forgotten who was in charge of Harry's mind right now. "Afraid to make a mistake?"

"We…fear much."

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The boat slid silently up to Avalon's dock. Hermione was impressed, despite herself. The sky was a deep gold, with a blazing orange sun hanging still, half blocked by the horizon. The grass looked like a velvet carpet of green, with a winding road that led through small clusters of orchards. Apples hung heavy from every tree, and there was the soft buzz of crickets. Voldemort led her by the hand, steadying her from falling as she stepped onto the dock.

The feeling of being in a place of such beauty would have rendered Hermione dumbstruck, if it weren't for the nagging presence of doubt and disillusionment. Every time she inhaled, she waited for the sweet smell of the golden apples, or for the sharp bite of sea air. But there was nothing. Experimentally, as she walked, Hermione picked an apple off the nearest tree, and took a bite. There was no taste, no smell, not even the texture of food in her mouth. It was as if as soon as she ate it, the apple simply ceased to be.

_Out of sight, out of mind._

The path followed the crest of a hill, and Hermione could see into a valley. There, in a grove, a small chapel sat, with the shadows of its lone spire pointing a long finger towards Hermione and her companion. Hermione could have sworn she saw Voldemort tremble.

"Afraid?"

"Of course. But our lady asks, so we must obey."

Voldemort placed a long, slender finger of the ornate frame of the only entrance, and shifted to let Hermione through as the door opened, silently. The room inside was lit by the light of the dying sun, and by a roaring fire. The flickering billows of flame cast dancing light and shadows against the room and its contents. And the room _was_ full.

Every nook and cranny, every wall, every shelf and even the door itself, were covered in books. There were even piles on the floor; there were novels and almanacs, textbooks and biographies, all stacked neatly, with a copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_ opened on an immense easy chair. Hermione lifted the book, and began to read.

_The Chudley Cannons were once the finest team in all of England, with two of the finest beaters seen since the beginnings of the game. However, due to the lack of funding from the local Chudley…Ummm…Hang on, there was more about the beaters…Their names…_

Hermione couldn't believe it at first, but then realized it made perfect sense. _The books know only as much as he does._ The room was meant to entice her; to show her what life could be like inside Harry's head, but all it did was reinforce her resolve. She had to find Harry, and they both had to get out.

"This isn't real."

"It could be," came a voice from down a dark hallway, furthest from the fire. It was strong, but sad. Hermione felt her heart leap again. It was Harry's voice.

"The two of you could make it brilliant!" said Voldemort. "You could fill these books with words, all the stories that you've read…and all the ones you could tell. We've always loved it when you read to us. Now, we have a lifetime in here, all to ourselves. Harry will come out into the open, if you promised to stay. Where it is safe," Voldemort's hand was on her shoulder; she couldn't feel it, but she could sense it there; attempting to be comforting and reassuring. Instead, there was nothing in Hermione's heart but revulsion.

"This is where _you_ are safe," she said, pointing her finger back in Voldemort's face. "You can stay here, feeding off our fear. But this mind is only as safe as the world around it! Don't you see? We need Harry out there! The world needs him! I…" she felt tears begin to well up at the corners of her eyes.

"I need you, Harry. But not in here. I need to feel you. I need you to protect me. I need you to comfort me. It can't just be this. I need you to be real, whether it's safe or not."

Voldemort's face contorted in rage. He was Harry's fear, of that there could be no doubt, but Harry's rage too. It was what angered him the most; that which he feared. Voldemort made a lunge for Hermione, but she pulled back from him and bolted for the dark hallway where she had heard Harry's voice.

"NO!" Voldemort cried, chasing her. Hermione could hear his long robes flapping madly, trying to catch up with her, but her love gave her wings, and she raced down the corridor, all the way to its end.

The hallway ended at an open doorway, the front door to a small, proper, perfectly normal house. The sign outside the door read "4 Privet Drive." Hermione absentmindedly remembered that this was the Dursely's House, where she had sent Harry his presents, cards, cakes, and sweets. _Why would this be at the end of the journey?_ She wondered.

Hermione had never been there before, except for the brief moment at the beginning of the summer where she and the Weaselys had picked him up. But somehow, she knew where to go. Right past the front door, and under the stair leading up, there was a small cupboard. The cupboard door was firmly bolted shut, and chains and padlocks crisscrossed their way across the length of it. Hermione could hear a rhythmic thumping coming from the other side. Someone was trying to kick their way out. Quickly, she put her eye to the keyhole, and saw two figures inside. One, a girl, was tied hand and foot. A gag covered her mouth, but she was nodding encouragement to the second figure, who was trying desperately to burst through the door. The second figure was tall, and male. Hermione began pulling at the chains around her, trying to help whoever they were open the door.

"YOU CANNOT!" cried Voldemort from behind her. "They are safe there! Both of them, safe, where nothing can touch them!"

"Where they can't touch _you_!" cried Hermione. "You're not in control anymore! You've made the decisions for too long in Harry's life, Voldemort! But no longer!" And with a final wrench, combined with a final kick from the figure on the other side, the door exploded in a shower of chain links and wooden splinters.

The tall, dark man stood silhouetted in the doorway, his bright green eyes flashing with anger. Hermione could feel the power radiating from him as he held the female in his arms, working to untie the bonds that held her. Hermione saw the female figure slump against the small bed in the cupboard under the stairs, relief flooding from her green eyes as she could finally move once more. The dark man looked up at Hermione.

"Hello, my love," he said, and instantly Hermione knew she had found Harry; the real Harry. He released the bond from the female's mouth, and Hermione heard, to her surprise, her own voice.

"Aaah, good to be free," said Harry, as he straightened and stretched, before marching out of the cupboard. Hermione saw, to her shock, that this Harry had no scar. It was still untouched by Voldemort. Harry had marched right up to Voldemort's dazed, fallen figure, and picked him up by his robes.

"Harry—a" said Voldemort, looking wide-eyed and panicked at his former captive, "You understand, don't you? It was the only way to keep you safe!"

"You. Don't. Get. To. Decide. That." Harry spat each word into Voldemort's face. He picked Voldemort up off the ground, and shoved him through the open door of the cupboard.

"If you want to be safe, all you had to do was ask," Harry said, and with a flick of his hand, the door repaired itself. Hermione looked at Harry, and at Harry's version of her, who took Harry's hand.

"He should be safe in there for some time," said Harry/Hermione.

"And you are?" asked the real Hermione.

"Harry's common sense," replied Harry/Hermione. "With me bound and gagged, fear was able to gain the footing it needed to take over. It had been building power for a while now, clouding the truth and spreading its poison. But it never could defeat common sense. Only silence it."

"Hermione," said Harry. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry you had to come in here, to get me out. I've never seen anything so brave in all my life. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Hermione nodded. "Come out with me. The world needs its hero. And I need my Harry."

Harry threw his arms around her. The world began to dissolve around them. Harry saw Harry/Hermione watching them, before she dissolved into a bright light. Stars were forming around them, bright flashes of fire. Harry leaned close to Hermione's ear, and whispered, softly, "You'll always have me…" And then the shimmering light began to shine through him as well. With one final push, Harry melted along with the rest of his constructed world. The lights became brighter, and brighter, painfully bright. Hermione felt a searing pain in her right eye…

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"I'm getting a response from her!" she heard a voice cry. There were spots in front of her eyes now, like when you look too long at the sun. She heard Harry rustling and moaning next to her.

"Harry's waking up too!" came Ron's voice. "Lupin! Get the rest of the Order! They'll want to see this!" Hermione heard footsteps come next to her.

"Is there anything wrong with her?" asked Ron.

"Too early to tell yet, give us a moment," came the first voice. Hermione realized it was Barrie.

"Mmmmmmm…." She said, trying to speak, but her tongue felt like a block of wood. "Mmm fnnnnn."

"She trying to say something," said Ron. "Give her room."

The vague shapes of the room began to appear, and Hermione looked around in confusion. Even with only a blurred outline, she could tell they were no longer in the Hospital Wing. The room was too dark. It smelled different, like a mix of harsh hopitalhospital chemicals and wet, rust, and mold. There lights were all old fashioned carriage lights, blinking from holders set into concrete walls.

"Whurrrr…" she swallowed, and felt a glass being pressed to her lips. She gulped, coughed, and sputtered.

"Bit of Pepper-Up Potion," said Ron. She began to see him a bit clearer. But something had changed…hair. More hair underneath. Less hair above.

"Who?" She said. "Who're…Who're you?"

Ron smiled. "You told me that I was to be the first face you saw when you woke up. Merlin help me it hasn't been easy, but I meant to stick to that promise! I can't believe you're back!"

"Just left," said Hermione, feeling dizzy and disoriented. "Went in for Harry. Found him in his head…"

"Ron?" came Harry's voice. "Where're…glasses?"

"By your right hand," said Ron, running over to help him. "You may not be able to move them very much. Barrie said that even with the potions and fluids we've been giving you, atrophy has probably set in a touch. But you'll be back in no time."

"Atrophy…" mused Hermione. "Atrophy takes time."

"So much time," said Ron. "More time than you can imagine. So much has changed, Hermione. So much…has been lost."

"Lost since when?" asked Harry. "When is it?"

Ron paused. He seemed to be steadying himself.

"A year. You've been gone, both of you, for a year."

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Yay! Lots of ideas! So many ideas, so little time! Better get to work on the next!


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Duh. Monica is awesome. Also duh.

Chapter 23: London, Underground

"Well rested, are we?"

Harry stirred. It was criminal, he thought. Immoral, that after a year's sleep, he was unable to do what he most wanted. He couldn't move.

Hermione's bed, with a similarly immobile Hermione, lay but a scant few feet away, far enough to touch her hand with an outstretched arm. He knew. That movement felt like a day's exercise when he had first awakened, three days ago. Day one had consisted of relearning basic motor functions: talking, and keeping his eyes open for longer than a few seconds. Day two had seen progress in the fields of moving his arms (muscles that had atrophied over a year needed careful attention, but magic and potions did help to speed up the job). He had also learned how to control his bowels again (Ron had regaled both of his bedridden compatriots with vivid descriptions of the previous years adventures in the _S__courgify_ charm). Today, Harry felt, it was time for a walk.

"Yeah, Ron," he said. "I think I'm pretty well rested. Reckon you could help us out of these beds?"

Ron had been their only companion the past few days, except for Doctor Barrie (Madam Pomfrey was conspicuously absent), and Harry had long since tired of reviewing the room they were in. There were twelve gas lights, in steel holders, flickering no matter that time of day it was. That was because there was no day. There was no night. They were somewhere that never changed, which to Harry suggested somewhere underground. Hermione agreed, citing the gaslights and smell as evidence. "It smells like a cave in here. Musty and wet." There were five chairs, chairs that Harry was sure were very nice at some point, but had long since passed their warranty life. The other beds were empty. Occasionally, Harry or Hermione saw a flicker of movement through their closed drapes. The entire outside world was being kept secret from them.

And Harry knew who was behind it. Every time either he or Hermione asked Ron for a synopsis of the past year (and Harry was once again astounded by the depth and breadth of Hermione's curiosity), Ron had told them to wait until they were up and walking. Harry wanted that day to be soon, because from what little they had seen, a lot had changed. First, there was Ron. His growth had finally come to a stop, and now his muscles were rushing to catch up with his height. Instead of the gangly scarecrow of a boy Harry remembered, a man stood before him. _Did he always have that glint in his eye?_ Harry thought, _Or was it a recent addition, like the beard?_ For Ron now sported a thin beard, a touch above stubble, that ran smoothly, elegantly, over his newly jutting jaw line. His hair was no longer a tangled mop of red. It was now cut short, military-style. He carried his staff wherever he went.

There was also the question of Barrie, who had acquired a sickeningly familiar magical eye in the past year. Harry first noticed it the second time Barrie came to check up on him, and at first thought his eyes were still recuperating from their long sleep. But even after a firm shake of his head, a rub of the eyes, and a not very well disguised double-take, the eye remained, spinning merrily in Barrie's left socket.

Barrie had shrugged Harry's curiousness off when asked about it, maintaining a lackadaisical attitude toward his new accessory.

"Nothing much to say there, Harry. Just one of those things that happen. Besides, I've got orders from a certain someone that you're not supposed to know until you've recovered. So I suggest you work on getting those muscles moving again."

And so he did, as much as he could. Harry, Hermione, and the potions worked to regain their former strength, and with a renewed purpose. Harry wanted to get up, and greet the unfamiliar world.

* * *

Ron helped Harry out of his bed, and Harry in turn, reached for Hermione. The touch of her hand seemed to rejuvenate him, to…_stir_ him, in a way that Harry had not expected. By the look of Hermione's flushed face, she felt it too. His legs still felt a bit unsteady, and Harry nearly stumbled into Hermione's arms, and they held each other for the first time in a year. Harry would have held her forever, right there, if he could have. But Ron wouldn't allow the moment between to last for more than a few minutes.

"C'mon," he said softly, pulling Harry away from Hermione. "Lots to see yet."

The door separated and opened, reminding Harry of a bus. But as he stepped out the doorway, he saw it was not a bus. It was a train. A train that rested inside a cavernous station, a galaxy of trains, lit by the shining stars of lamps. To his right and left, there were lines of cars, too many to count, each glowing, both in and out. The lights seemed to stretch on forever, until the damp air engulfed them. The trains themselves were arranged in long lines, each row diagonal to another, forming around a central hub, like an immense wagon wheel. Hermione nudged him.

"This must be an old switching station. Trains could be moved to different tracks."

In the train cars nearest him, Harry saw what looked like offices, a few training rooms with mats and dummies, and even classrooms, though they were not as grand as he once remembered. They looked more like an effigy, a memorial to the former grandeur of Hogwarts. In these cramped quarters, without the excited bustle of children moving from class to class, there was an air of parody, as if the trains were gaudy Halloween reconstructions that someone had learned second or third hand. Harry recognized a few plants that signaled one of the cars as Professor Sprout's. They didn't look like they were doing too well, and Harry understood why. There was no sunlight in the entire station.

Ron fingered one of the leaves gently, and sighed. "Sprout goes about doing all she can. Artificial sun, and plenty of water for those what need it. But _they _know the difference." Harry thought he could tell the difference too. Loss of sunlight bleaches anyone, and Ron was no exception. Underneath his new beard, he looked pale, and his normally outstanding freckles seemed to be wilting as well.

Harry was so taken in by the enormity of the station he didn't notice the first tent until he tripped over it. He went sprawling, and was met by the angry face of Molly Weasley, poking out from beyond the tent flap.

"How many times do I have to tell you, watch where you're going!? Some people have to make due with the homes they've got you know! So carry on, before I hex you to…Harry?" Her anger melted. She blinked, trying to gather herself.

"Harry! Oh, Harry! And Hermione, awake as well! Of course I should have known you'd wake up together! No separating the two of you!"

And suddenly Harry, Hermione, and by default Ron, were all hauled into the Weasley's tent. Once inside, Harry realized that this was the same tent they had used when they had gone to see the Quidditch World Cup. But it too had changed over time. The magic tent was, Harry felt, a more cramped version of the Burrow, with stacks of paper intermingling with old relics. A few gnomes seemed to have taken residence in the rafters, and the kitchen doubled as the living room, with wood furniture edging dangerously close to the fire.

It took Mrs. Weasley the course of two hours and many cups of tea to finish her interrogation of Harry and Hermione, and by the time it was over she had supplied both of them with a rich stew, hot buttered bread, and a chocolate cake that she had been saving for Christmas. Apparently, they had gone to sleep on the third of December, last year. They had woken up, according to the Ron, on the eighteenth of December. One year and fifteen days, gone in what seemed the blink of an eye. Mrs. Weasley looked more tired as well, with her red hair much more streaked with grey than Harry remembered. She glanced at her family's clock more often, which Harry was happy to see still contained all of the Weasley's names, except for Ginny's, which lay under a picture of her on the mantle. All were, as he expected, pointed toward "Mortal Danger". Harry wanted desperately to know what was going on in their family (especially after the second telling of their dream-story), but Ron gave his mother a significant glance after Hermione had tried to ask her where the rest of the family was.

"I'd love to tell you, dear…really I would, but I'm afraid the hour is late. Tomorrow, I promise, you'll be able to see, very clearly, the entire lay of the landscape." She yawned, a little too loudly to be believed, and began picking up the dishes that were strewn around the table (after a year, both Harry and Hermione were famished).

"Here, Mrs. Weasley, we can help you," said Hermione kindly, picking up her bowl.

"No need, dear. I'm quite capable," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Yeah, plus she's got all the help she needs these days," said Ron. "Oi! Kreacher!"

There was a familiar pop, and too Harry's surprise, his godfather's ancient house elf appeared, followed closely by Dobby.

"Has the young master called?" Kreacher said, with a tone Harry had never heard before coming from him. Was it…_happiness_?

"Yeah, Kreacher." Ron knelt low, speaking in a soft, gentle, and pleasant tone into one of Kreacher's ears. "Any chance you and Dobby could help Mum put away the dishes? We've had unexpected guests." Ron gestured toward Harry and Hermione. Immediately, both were slammed together by an enormous, double-house elf bear hug.

"Young Master Harry! Miss Hermione!" said Kreacher, beaming with joy. Dobby was silently squeezing the circulation out of Harry's legs, with tears as big as grapes dripping from the tip of his nose. "We always knew you would be back! The Weezey's never gave up hope, even when others did. Kind masters! Good masters!" Hermione gave a half befuddled- half gratified look to Mrs. Weasley, who in turn pointed to her youngest son.

"All thanks to this one," she said, proudly. "After…well, you'll see, but after what happened last year, Ron took the protection of the house elves very seriously. They were one of the first groups to…well. Yes."

Harry was very glad they were not conscious for whatever happened in the last year that had reformed Ron's view of SPEW activities in general and the treatment of Kreacher in specifics. Judging from the look on Hermione's face, whether true love or not held the two of them together, Harry was almost certain she would have snogged the freckles off of Ron's face if she had seen him concerned over the fate of House Elves.

* * *

Ron had promised them that he would show them to some new quarters (Hermione had flatly refused another night in the Hospital Wing), but when he opened the tent flap, the path was blocked. It looked like every person in the train station had been notified of the awakening, and were gathered outside the Weasley's tent. A few of the faces were recognizable. Hagrid was front and center, still looking too big to be allowed, even in this cavernous room, with Fang close by his side. Shacklebolt and Tonks were there (but no Lupin, Harry saw), and a few other members of the orders scattered amidst the crowd. Harry saw Neville, tall, muscular, and impressive with his club poking out of a sheath behind his back. Seamus stood next to him, looking like he had just come running from the shower, since he only had a pair of pants on and his shoes on the wrong feet. Harry counted three Celtic crosses and a large shamrock among the many tattoos he now sported on his arms and chest. The Patil twins had their mouths covered, and both looked on the verge of tears. All were standing silently, most with their mouths open, looking stunned, but silently thrilled.

"Well," cried Ron, putting his arms around them both, "Look who decided to wake up!"

The assembled throng exploded with cheers and applause.

* * *

The hallways twisted and turned so much that soon even Hermione was lost. She was not looking forward to finding her way around the station the next day without Ron as her guide. He promised that it got easier after a few tries. "Just like Hogwarts," he said. "Give it a few days, and you'll be tour guides!"

He explained that the original station had been constructed in the early 1930's, and abandoned just as quickly, due to "Budget concerns." These were actually Dumbledore, who used his allies in the Muggle world to cede ownership of the station to him.

"According to Professor Snape, this was supposed to be a bunker, a place of last resort. Dumbledore called it The Refuge when he was building it. It's got magic defenses, just like Hogwarts. There are Aurors guarding every entrance, and we have a steady food and water stockpile for the next three years. We've even tapped into the Muggle Water and Power system here…"

"Where is here?" asked Hermione.

"London. We're underneath London. And I mean _way _underneath. Down deeper than any of the other Underground stations, so we're nice and far away from any regular blokes who might want to go exploring. Dumbledore even expanded it a bit magically, but water and gas power is diverted from several locations. We figure the less magic we use right now, the better. That way, we don't leave a great big signature for the Death Eaters to pick up on." Ron grinned. "How's _THAT_ for Muggle Studies?"

They arrived at the room that was to be theirs. It was at the end of one of the long hallways, and was, compared to their Head Room, spartan. Two cots had been shoved together on one side of the room, with two gas lights on either wall for illumination. A bureau took up most of the rest of the space.

"I know it doesn't look like much," said Ron, holding the door open for them, "but at least it's…not much."

If Hermione was disappointed, she didn't let it register on her face.

"It'll be perfect for us. Thanks, Ron." Harry nodded in agreement. Ron blew air out through his lips, looking relieved.

"Right then. The bathroom is next door and sleep tight. Find me tomorrow; I'll get you up to speed on the year you missed."

The door shut. Harry and Hermione were alone.

A moment of awkward silence passed. Harry fingered the sheet spread over both cots; the sheet was all that made it "one" bed. One bed. This would be the first time they slept together…._not SLEPT TOGETHER slept together_, thought Harry, _but sleeping together slept together._ His finger had caught a frayed corner of the bed, and was slowly and meticulously unraveling the thread, apparently without his brain's knowledge. Hermione decided to take control.

"I'm going to take a shower, Harry. When I get back, have the sleeping arrangements made, will you? However you'd like them." She rummaged momentarily through the dresser, found a towel and a toothbrush, and left Harry alone.

Harry had a brief but frenzied argument with his two natures: one being the respectful, chivalrous boyfriend, the other the horny teenager who had just been more or less dared by a member of the opposite sex to sleep with her. The natures dueled furiously inside Harry's mind. The teenager won.

_I've made up my mind. I'd better go tell her…_

The door to the bathroom opened, and Harry wondered briefly if she had been expecting him. If she had, she made no attempt to let him know. Hermione was standing in front of a mirror, slowly brushing her teeth. She still had all her clothes on, much to Harry's chagrin. But he marched slowly up behind her, focusing all his will on not running away. Hermione watched him in the mirror, holding the toothbrush between her teeth and running her tongue gently along the bristles. Harry had never thought of dental care as anything more than a cultural necessity. He had certainly never thought of the act of brushing ones teeth as something…enticing. But now he felt something stir, both within himself, and physically. The year had been good for Hermione, he thought. She had more curves now. She looked more mature. Harry worried that he might look like Rip Van Winkle in the mirror; all beard and shaggy hair. But he saw someone had kept his hair under control. He was surprised to see a man, a man with many of the same features he had. The scar, the green eyes, but it was as if they were cut out of a picture of him, and pasted onto the head of someone else. Harry ran his hands through his hair, more to make sure it truly was him than any hope of tidying it up, and turned his attention back to Hermione.

Hermione slowly, luxuriously pulled the toothbrush out of her mouth. It was clear she was enjoying playing the seductress.

"My parents are dentists," she whispered. "They taught me the proper way to maintain…healthy gums."

It was a bad come on, and they both knew it, but Harry couldn't help himself. He couldn't tear himself away from the beautiful girl-no…woman now standing before him. The rules of seduction demanded a reply, preferably in a husky male voice, set to a rumble.

"They taught you well."

It would have been fine, but for the nerves. Harry had never been particularly good with women, and this was an unexplored territory he was entering. Territory, with vast…tracts of land. He was nervous, and the words, meant to be rich and inviting, squeaked out of him in a manner befitting an infant mouse that had just been stepped on.

They both broke down, convulsing in fits of laughter. Harry doubled over, grasping the sink to keep himself from falling on the floor. Tears were streaming down Hermione's face, and she was giggling so hard they had lost their sound, and all Harry heard were the occasional shrieks of breath when she needed to come up for air.

Though it was not quite the scenario he had envisioned, Harry decided that fortune favored the brave, no matter the circumstances. His face still cracked in a wide grin, Harry reached out his hand, and lovingly cradled the side of Hermione's face. She was serious again, but her eyes were warm and inviting. Harry leaned in, letting his fingers trace a path to her hair, and kissed her softly.

They pulled back after a moment. Then, they both lunged forward again. This was not the time for softness, and Harry's mouth attacked hers, his hands grasping anywhere they could as they ran up and down her body with the self-control of an addict. He needed her, wanted her, and her moans and sighs of pleasure let Harry know she felt the same. Harry's mind began to reel as she unbuttoned his shirt, exposing the dragon skin shirt Hagrid had given him for his birthday. A growl of frustration escaped Hermione, a noise he had never heard from her before, and he reached down to assist her. With his shirt off, he moved to unbutton her blouse, but a combination of desire and nerves made his fingers tremble at every button. Finally, in exasperation, he ripped the blouse open. Buttons scattered in every direction.

Hermione gasped as she felt his hands on her skin, his mouth burning a path from her lips, down her neck. She felt him lifting her slowly away from the sink, toward the far wall. The shower head exploded above them, cascading the pair with hot water. Harry's hands found their resolve again, quickly removing the rest of her clothes. He stepped back for a moment, gasping for air, needing to see her body, to finally see what his hands were feeling, his lips tasting. This was the first time he had actually seen Hermione naked, though he had envisioned it a hundred times. The real woman standing before him, her hair draped over her shoulders, her breasts dripping with water, the curves of her body heaving with desire, was better than anything his imagination could have invented. He quickly joined her underneath the shower once again, and with a self-confidence he did not know he possessed, lifted her into the air. Hermione's legs wrapped around him, and the closeness of their bodies sent waves of dizziness through his body..

"Please," she whispered in his ear. "Please. I want you, I need you, Harry, now!"

"I love you so much, Hermione," said Harry, and for the first time, their bodies became one. The water spattering Harry's shoulders as he hoisted Hermione into the air evaporated instantly, creating a steamy shroud that enveloped the two lovers as they gave themselves to each other for the first time. The heat radiating from the two of them grew as they rose to meet each other in climax at the same instant. Every faucet and every pipe in the Refuge burst forth with water, as if to celebrate the moment with them.

It was the first time for both of them, a memorable time. It may not have been the best either would ever have, but for a first time, it was extraordinary.

Times two through eight, later that night, weren't half bad either.

* * *

Ron stood over a desk in the room adjacent to his. _Of all the rooms to have next to mine,_ he thought, _I have to volunteer to have the Horcrux Room_. He wasn't trying to be brave; there just weren't many people he could trust. And those he trusted, he didn't want guarding Horcruxes. The pendant, the bird, the wand, and the cup radiated a feel of ill-ease, as if the pieces of Voldemort's soul knew they were in enemy hands. Ron hated this room, but knew that it contained the keys to the Order's survival.

Ron's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of pipes bursting from down the hall. He sighed in frustration, remembering with desire the days when stuff actually _worked_, and didn't break. He paused. The rumbling grew louder, more…agitated. Ron backed away from the Horcruxes. He had been too close to explosions in the past year, and didn't want to be near the soul collection if anything was amiss.

The nearest pipe began to vibrate. Small drops of water fell onto the Horcrux table, burning the wood. Ron took this as a sign to back away further. The drops suddenly stopped, and the pipe groaned in protest, as too much water all vied for simultaneous exit. When it could take no more, the water burst out like a shot from a pistol. Gushes of steam belched forth, and enveloped the room in a deep fog. Through the mist, Ron saw the outlines of each Horcrux. The water appeared to be melting them. Ron checked himself. He felt fine. But the Horcruxes were all…melting. The outlines shook, clanging against each other, until with a high-pitched groan, all of them withered and vanished.

Ron stood in the middle of the steam filled room, staring at the scorched remnants of the Horcruxes on the table. _This…is a change. Change can be good, I suppose._ His mouth, not quite as eloquent as his brain, simply muttered "Shit…"

* * *

* * *

The next morning, as a befuddled guard went about mopping up the Horcrux Room, Harry and Hermione met once again with Ron, this time in the Order's meeting room. The room was comprised of two train cars, magically melded together for more space. A long table ran the length of it, with stacks of paper, a few carelessly discarded weapons, and maps of places Harry didn't recognize. The largest was of the North Sea, with several red circles around specific islands. Most of the circles had X's drawn through them, a few so violently that the ink had ripped through the map, leaving their mark on the table. As Harry and Hermione were waved into the room, Ron was finishing his division of labor. Harry was surprised again by his friend's maturity, and ability to lead. He was halfway through giving instruction to Pavarti and Padme Patil. Harry was glad to see they were both still alive and well.

"…and once you get to Scotland, send an owl to the Slayers. That witch they have is powerful, and may be able to increase our ability to search the remaining islands."

"Willow's in Brazil right now with her girlfriend. Only Xander's at home."

"Well see if he can convince the two lovebirds to cut their Carnivale short," said Ron. "I know you don't mind taking trips to see Xander, Padme." One of the twins blushed.

"Quinn." Donovan Quinn touched his bowler cap to indicate he was listening. Nothing about the man had changed in the past year, except for his new t-shirt emblazoned with "REAL VAMPIRES BURST INTO FLAMES!" Ron continued. "Go with them. The Slayers don't mind vampires, so long as they play nice."

Quinn didn't look too pleased with his assignment. "I have to babysit these two all the way up to Scotland to meet with Buffy and her merry band of vampire killers? You want to know the odds of me being staked?"

"That's your job, thanks for volunteering," snapped Ron. Pavarti and Padme both raised their wands to their foreheads in salute, and left, accompanied by an unhappy Donovan Quinn.

"Where are Raven and Mosquito?" asked Hermione.

"Raven's on a special mission right now. Can't tell you where, unfortunately. Someone else is keeping that secret." Harry realized they must have brought back the practice of using secret keepers, letting only a choice few, even among the Order, know their plans.

"And De La Vega?" asked Harry.

Ron grimaced.

"The day of the gentleman has passed."

There was a moment of shuffling feet and throat clearing, before Ron picked up the conversation. "Fred, George."

The Twins snapped to military attention. "Anywhere you need us, Ickle Ronniekins," said George. Fred elbowed him.

"You're not supposed to call him that anymore!" He leered at Ron. "It's _GENERAL_ Ickle Ronniekins to folks like you and I."

"Oh, right. I forgot he'd been promoted. It's almost as bad as having another Head Boy in the family."

"All right, all right," said Ron, his ears tinged with pink. "We need more help on the weapons front. See if you can convince Torchwood to hand over some more…"

"Come on, Ron!" George and Fred cried together in unison. "Don't make us go back there!"

"Captain Jack always looks at us like we're aliens or something. I think he means to probe us!"

"Wouldn't surprise me in the least," said Ron, with a malicious grin.

"Besides, they're worse off than we are! All their new recruits keep dropping like flies!"

"Offer him a bit of help on the magic defenses for his Hubfront, and see if you can barter for some more firepower that you can charm a bit. And stay away from the blue phone booth this time!"

Fred and George both saluted, and spun on their heels, talking about appropriate ways to defend their backsides.

"Neville!"

"Yeah, boss!"

"How do you feel about London Below?"

Neville appeared to consider the question. "I don't know, Ron…ever since they switched cooks, the place has really gone downhill."

Ron ignored the jibe. "We need a favor from the Marquis de Carabas. See if he can get us in contact with Lord Portico's daughter. She might be able to deal with a door or two we need opened. If asking politely doesn't work, remind him that he still owes Dumbledore a really big favor, and that favor transferred to us after Dumbledore's passing."

Neville smiled in a manner that Harry could only describe as…Draco-esque.

"Should I ask the Marquis for Door's number, too? She's quite lovely for a sewer-dweller. Although I don't know if Lu…"

"Shut up," muttered Ron, cutting him off. Neville's laugh trailed out the door after him. "SO," Ron said, turning to Harry and Hermione, "I got doused in a magical steam room, and watched quite a few Horcruxes dissolve before my eyes. How was your night last night?" He eyed his friends up and down. Their eyes were puffy, their hair disheveled (in Harry's case, more than usual), but each looked content. No, maybe more than content. Glowing.

"Not bad," said Hermione, as nonchalantly as possible.

"Pretty good, actually," added Harry.

"Hmmm…" said Ron. Obviously, something had happened last night, and he could guess. But his friends weren't keen on explaining, so he let it go.

"Well, since somehow, someone destroyed all the Horcruxes in this vicinity, someone very powerful, perhaps even two someones, we have work to do today."

"He's still out there," said Harry, confirming what Ron had feared. "I can feel him. Voldemort, and the Horcrux we didn't have."

"All the more reason to get to work," said Ron. "Now, there are a few clandestine operations that we've been waiting for the right moment to get underway…"

"Clandestine?" said Hermione. Harry sensed she was quite impressed with his vocabulary. "Ron, you've changed so much over the past year. I almost can't believe it."

"Believe it," said Ron. "Change can be good. Very good."

"You think so?" said Harry. "What about all the people we've lost over the past year? Where are Lupin and Draco? Where's Luna? I'm not sure change…"

A knock at the door interrupted him. Ron called for the knocker to enter. The woman who walked in was so different than anyone Harry had ever seen at Hogwarts, he had trouble figuring out if he knew her or not. She was dressed all in black. Black leather boots climbed up past her knees, where they met black, skintight pants. Her long sleeved-shirt was black, as was the sash looped around the woman's substantial chest. Her long blond hair was wrapped in a ponytail. The only thing about her that wasn't black was her earrings. They were bright red…

"Radishes!" cried Hermione.

"It can't be!" exclaimed Harry.

"Hey, have you ever been with a warrior woman?" said Ron.

Luna Lovegood turned and waved casually at Harry and Hermione, not at all surprised to see them there. Harry wondered if she had been informed of their awakening, or had simply…known.

"I know, you always said they would wake up," said Ron. "Guess I owe you a galleon."

Luna's grey, overlarge eyes peered back at Ron. She raised a single eyebrow.

"Okay, two!" He held out his arms, and Luna ran cheerfully into his embrace. For a minute, all Harry and Hermione could see were a tangle of red and blonde, as Luna and Ron displayed their happiness at seeing each other again. Finally, Ron came up for air.

"See, not all change is bad. Now, let's go get our ferret back."

* * *

* * *

I'm going to keep the next few chapters shorter, but SOONER. Thanks for all the reviews and patience!


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